


Evenstar

by SeeThemFlying



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, No idea where this is going, Oh and he got Brienne up the duff at Winterfell, Only change to what happened is that Jaime and Cersei escaped on their rowboat, an epilogue, i hope you enjoy, show canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 74,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22188109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/pseuds/SeeThemFlying
Summary: For most of her young life, Catelyn of Tarth has longed to know the identity of her father, but everyone around her has kept it a secret. In spite of repeated begging neither her mother, Tarth's castellan, nor the Queen of the North will divulge what they know, leaving Catelyn desperate for the truth.However, seventeen years after those fateful events at Winterfell, a mysterious stranger arrives on the island asking to see the Evenstar, and he might be the key to solving the mystery once and for all...
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 1050
Kudos: 770





	1. The Shores of Tarth

**Author's Note:**

> So, you know when you start writing a fic and then totally forget it exists until months later when you randomly find it on your laptop while putting stuff in the trash? So yeah, that happened. I wrote Chapter One of this in the days after Game of Thrones' ignoble end, so it may be a little bitter and Jaime-bashing. I will try to complete it, but as I have far too many WIPs at the moment, I will be mysterious about my update schedule too!

Catelyn liked walking along the shore of Tarth barefooted.

She loved the feel of the water between her toes, and the sounds of the waves crashing onto the sand. She loved the birdsong and the peace and the endless sunlight. It was her name day in a fortnight – she would be seventeen – and she wanted to come here with Dornish wine and lemon cakes to celebrate.

"I think Da has some Arbor Gold in the cellars," said Ty enthusiastically, giving her a toothy grin.

As Ty knew a secret about Evenfall Hall that she did not, Catelyn decided to put on an air of superiority. For some reason, it had always suited her. "How do you know of such things? You are only twelve!"

Ty laughed, a glimmer in his dark eyes, "I know everything that happens on Tarth. It pays to be the castellan’s son!"

There were not many people her own age on the island, so Catelyn had taken Ty under her wing. She had taught him how to fish and hunt and make traps. He had inspired her to be more adventurous than she was. It had been his suggestion to escape dinner early and come down to the beach to watch the sun set. Catelyn had been reluctant at first but had acquiesced when he had begged. She could never say no to those puppy dog eyes.

When they had finally arrived on the beach and seen the sky, she had been convinced Ty had been right in begging. The sky was alight with colours, just as it had been two moons ago when she had last come down here with her mother. Brienne of Tarth had been ill even then but had insisted on taking a walk in her loose summer shirt, her breeches, and her boots, with Oathkeeper tied to her belt. It had been the last time she had been out of her chamber. For the last two weeks she had been growing steadily weaker, spending half the day sleeping, a quarter fretting about Tarth, and the last quarter obsessively checking Oathkeeper was by her side.

Catelyn had taken over the running of Tarth in her mother’s absence. She had never had a head for figures, but she had worked hard to make sure shipments of grain arrived on the island, and the bridges and ditches were being repaired. She sat in the big chair in the Great Hall and welcomed petitioners, in the way she had watched her mother and grandfather do before her.

"Brienne would be so proud of you, Catelyn," Podrick had whispered, putting one hand on her shoulder. Catelyn had smiled appreciatively. Podrick had been her mother’s squire during the war, by her side when the dead converged on Winterfell. After the war, he had had nowhere to go, so when her mother had returned to Tarth to take up her position as her father’s heir, he had come with her. Although Old Selwyn Tarth had initially been distrustful, Podrick’s level head and loyalty had quickly won him over, and Selwyn had eventually hired him as castellan of Evenfall Hall. Even now, Podrick liked to joke that he had only intended to stay until Brienne was settled, but he had fallen in love with the island, met a local girl and started a family of his own. Catelyn had always been grateful he had stayed; after her grandfather had died, Podrick had been the closest thing she had ever had to a father.

"You think?" said Catelyn, as the last petitioner left the hall. "I am not a fighter like she was… how can I ever protect Tarth like she did?"

"There are lots of ways to protect Tarth. Not all of them need force."

In that she was lucky. Her mother had tried training her with swords from a young age, but she had never taken to it. She was capable, oh yes, but she had none of her mother’s brute strength or unshakeable temperament. Catelyn was agile and quick on her feet, but she knew if she ever faced a real knight she would quickly come unstuck. She had always preferred songs and singers to swords.

She wondered if that was her father’s blood in her. Not that she had ever known her father, mind. Had he been a poet? Or a singer? Her mother had always loved the old songs. After the war, her mother had returned to Tarth not just with Podrick, but also a swollen belly. Catelyn had been born a few months later and legitimised by decree of King Brandon, but when Catelyn had found the resultant document, she had found no mention of her father. This had not been a surprise to Catelyn, because it seemed her mother was determined to never have his name mentioned on her island kingdom, but it was disappointing, nonetheless.

Although Brienne of Tarth was strong, kind, and full of fun, even as a child Catelyn had been able to tell that the identity of her father was a sore point. When she was five, she had asked, slightly confused, why every other child had a father and she didn’t. Her mother had told her she was just special that way. At nine, when she became aware of the fact that she _must_ have a father for her to even exist, she had once more asked her mother, trying to be cunning, if her father was a knight. Brienne of Tarth had blushed and bluntly said yes but would not countenance any more discussion on the subject.

At twelve, when she found the document confirming her legitimisation, Catelyn had held less truck with such tantalising hints and asked her mother directly who he was. In retrospect, it had been at a bad time to bring it up. The harvest had been poor, and her mother was busy pouring over the accounts, working out whether Tarth had enough gold to import grain from the mainland. Locked inside with the accounts was not Brienne of Tarth’s natural habitat – she belonged outside, sword in hand – and it always put her in a bad mood. For some reason, Catelyn had felt that was the time to ask.

Her mother looked at her, with sadness and exhaustion in her eyes, and shook her head before saying: "Catelyn, if you love your mother, you will never ask that question again."

Catelyn had been taken aback, but in seeing the expression her mother had worn she had promised she wouldn’t and was true to her word. Well, for the most part. Catelyn had never asked her _mother_ again, but that didn’t stop her asking _other people_ that same question. Over the next few months, she had pestered Podrick. The first time she asked he had gone red and mumbled something, and from then on denied all knowledge.

"But you _must_ know. I know how these things work. I must have been made in the last few months of the war and you were mother’s squire then. _You must know_."

Podrick had looked uneasy at that.

"There were many men in Winterfell at the time… he…" The expression that crossed Podrick’s face told her that he had said too much.

"My father and mother met at Winterfell?" she asked, trying to hide the desperation in her voice.

"No… yes… I mean…" said Podrick, trailing off in his panic.

"Yes?" Catelyn had asked sweetly, "what were you going to say?"

"Nothing," he said, resolutely. "I don’t know anything."

She had nodded, a little bit disappointed, but she had something new to work with: Winterfell. Armed with that new hint, she had plundered Tarth’s limited library for books and letters and documents that would prove which knights were in Winterfell as the Long Night drew in. There were problems with most of the candidates she found. Ser Davos Seaworth was a knight with whom her mother had briefly served on the Council, but he was much older, and he didn’t seem the type Brienne of Tarth would like. Catelyn remembered the joust that had been held for her tenth nameday, and the furious red her mother had turned when the green-eyed young knight, Ser Brandon Morrigen, had named her Queen of Love and Beauty with a generous smile. Her mother had insisted that her acceptance of the rose crown was all part of the event, but Catelyn could see what it meant to her.

She had briefly suspected Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, because the servants whispered that he had his heartbroken at Winterfell. However, she had not believed that for long, because she had seen him once, from a distance, and he contradicted perhaps her best clue: her own face. Her face was spectacularly unlike Gendry Baratheon’s. In fact, it was also completely unlike her own mother’s. Where her mother’s features were striking, Catelyn’s were delicate and pretty. Brienne of Tarth had eyes as blue as the waters around the island, while Catelyn’s were a ferocious green. The only thing she had inherited from her mother were her freckles, which peppered her face, and her height, which made her taller than most men.

She had found out nothing more until she was fourteen, when the Queen of the North had come to visit Tarth with her huge entourage. A dance had been organised, with a great feast with lashings of wine. Queen Sansa had begged Ser Brienne to dance, but she had refused and remained next to Podrick, drinking her cranberry juice with a haunted look on her face. In her mother’s absence, Queen Sansa had taken Catelyn to dance, and the two women had laughed the whole night as Queen Sansa taught her a volta she had learnt at the court of King Robert.

After several hours, Queen Sansa’s face was flushed red with exertion and wine, but eventually she and Catelyn had gone to sit next to Ser Brienne and Podrick. Queen Sansa had begged they play a game, and Podrick had brought out an old pack of cards. They had played a few rounds, then Queen Sansa had asked to play a different game.

"How about truth telling?" Queen Sansa had asked, turning to Catelyn.

Catelyn's joy had only grown at that invitation. "Yes please!"

"You like… lemon cakes!" Queen Sansa had teased, and Catelyn had to drink. The game had quickly ended, however, when Catelyn’s mother had spoken.

"Excuse me, Your Grace," she had said tersely, getting to her feet and stalking away, a storm in her eyes. Queen Sansa had shot a look at confused look at Podrick, who only offered her a sad smile.

"That was the game Tyrion, Brienne… and… _you-know-who_ played at Winterfell the night after we won the battle."

Queen Sansa had nodded with understanding, while Catelyn’s ears pricked up in confusion.

"Who is _you-know-who_?" she asked, turning from Queen Sansa to Podrick and back again, her tone conspiratorial.

"It is none of your concern," said Podrick, "come, Your Grace. Will you take the next dance with me?"

"Of course."

Catelyn could only watch as Podrick and Queen Sansa began to dance together. He was as awkward as ever while she was beautifully elegant, but even so, their true motive was not dancing. Podrick was whispering something and Queen Sansa kept shooting furtive looks back in Catelyn’s direction. Whatever Podrick had said obviously concerned Catelyn, as during the last three days of Queen Sansa’s visit, the Queen of the North always found a way to avoid Catelyn’s questions about Winterfell and never shared a moment alone with her.

It was only on the last day of the Sansa’s stay that Catelyn had the chance to catch her alone, and that was only when she had taken the place of a servant to deliver some valuable items that Catelyn’s mother had been keeping safe for the Queen.

"Your Grace," Catelyn had said, "can I have a moment?"

"Of course, sweetling," said Queen Sansa, fastening her cloak around her neck. Her fingers danced on the silver – it was clear she was nervous.

Catelyn didn’t think she had any other choice but to be direct.

"Do you know who my father is?"

Queen Sansa’s face did not show any emotion; in fact, apart from her blinking, she was as still as a statue. Catelyn knew immediately that Sansa was not inclined to tell her; she had to continue with sweet words if she were to persuade the Queen of the North.

"Doesn’t everyone have the right to know where they come from? My mother would never tell me – she always grows sad and withdrawn whenever I ask about him – and I know Podrick knows, but out of loyalty he will not say a word. You are possibly the only other person left alive that knows the truth. Please can you tell me?"

Sansa’s expression did not change, but that was to be expected. Catelyn had grown up on stories of the Queen of the North. She was a student of Cersei Lannister and Petyr Baelish. She wouldn’t reveal her plans on her face.

"I am sorry, Catelyn," she said, eventually. "Your mother saved my life once, and as payment for that debt, I promised I would never tell."

And now Catelyn would never know. Her mother was ill, very ill, and soon Catelyn herself would be the new Evenstar. Podrick would continue to be the castellan, organising the household and stocking the stories, but he would never tell. Catelyn could write a thousand begging letters to Queen Sansa and would only ever get polite replies.

The only piece of her father she would ever have was her own green eyes.

"Cat!" called Ty suddenly. "Look! A boat!"

Catelyn squinted to where Ty was pointing, and sure enough, could see a small skiff pulling up to the jetty. She turned her eyes and looked out to sea, and soon saw a middling sized Pentoshi vessel – the skiff was surely dropping off a visitor to the island. As she rushed forward with Ty, she noted that the boat contained two men; a young handsome sailor who was rowing, and his passenger, an older man in a dark cloak. When the skiff bumped up against the jetty, the sailor clambered out the boat to tied it firmly to the side as the passenger pulled himself, painfully, onto the side. By the time Catelyn and Ty were close enough to hear what they were saying, the passenger was thanking the sailor and passing him a small purse of gold. The sailor was away without another word.

The man was wearing a long dark cloak drawn around him, his face covered by a grey beard, flecked (in places) with gold. His clothes were those of a modestly successful Pentoshi merchant, but he had none of the pride that so often came from men in that position. Instead, he just seemed tired. Walking down the jetty, he spotted them and gave them a small smile.

"Good day," he said, wearily. "I wonder whether you can help me. I am looking for Evenfall Hall. I am here to see Ser Podrick Payne, Tarth’s castellan."

Ty stepped forward, suddenly full of his own importance. "Do you have an appointment?"

The man shook his head. "No, but I am an old friend. He will be pleased to see me."

Ty shot Catelyn a nervous look. "Should we take him?"

"I don’t see the harm," she said, "we never get visitors here on Tarth. And he says he knows your Da." She looked towards the woods, pointing. "It’s this way."

The man took a long look at Ty before nodding and saying. "Thank you."

Catelyn returned to the point along the shore where she had abandoned her shoes, leaving Ty to chat animatedly to the man.

"I’m Tyrion Payne," he was saying excitedly, "the castellan’s son."

The man raised his eyebrows. " _Tyrion?_ An interesting choice of name."

"It’s after Tyrion Lannister, the Hand of the King. My father was squired for him during the War of the Five Kings."

"How... sentimental," said the man.

"My father squired for _two_ people. Tyrion and the Evenstar. My sister Brienne is named after her."

The man looked at him and smiled, sadly. "Brienne. It’s a beautiful name." He paused, thinking. "Is the Evenstar at Evenfall Hall?"

"Yes," said Catelyn, "but she’s not fit for guests at this time. Please, come this way."

Their journey up the hill to Evenfall Hall was a slow one, especially as Ty kept animatedly chatting nonsense, and the man kept stopping to awkwardly wrap his cloak around him with one hand. When they got to Evenfall, the little town surrounding the hall, Ty piped up.

"Where will you be staying? I’m sure my father can find you a room at the Blue Pig if you need it."

The man smiled, his grin like a knife. "I’m hoping Podrick will find me a room at Evenfall Hall. He’ll be eager to see me I’m sure."

Ty nodded, and started prattling on about the state of the rooms at Evenfall Hall. According to him, they were smart, plush, grand, and there were no more beautiful rooms in the world. Catelyn just thought Ty had never been anywhere to compare. When he finally stopped for air, the man turned to Catelyn.

"You are very quiet," he said. "Don’t you have an opinion on the splendour of Evenfall Hall?" There was something mocking in his tone that Catelyn did not like but, even so, she went to answer his question.

"Of course I do," she replied stiffly. "It's my ancestral home. One day, I can have it decorated how I like, because it will be mine, so it befits my status to have _opinions_ about the room."

To her surprise, the man let out a splutter of genuinely amused laughter at that. "Oh no! Are you some poor distant cousin of the Evenstar who is going to have all those rights and responsibilities thrust upon you one day? It would be a hard job, I imagine, to live up to her standards. Can you be as virtuous and pure as she is?"

Not liking how this man was making fun of her mother, Catelyn went to bite back and say something, but Ty interrupted.

"She's not the Evenstar's cousin!" he said indignantly. "Catelyn is her daughter. Catelyn is her heir."

And then, for some reason, it was as if Winter had come to Tarth, because the unknown man looked at Catelyn as if he had seen something long dead in the distance, come to claim his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! If you did, please consider leaving comments and kudos :)


	2. The Hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn and Ty take the stranger up to Evenfall Hall...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So the mysterious schedule apparently allowed me to get an bit of inspiration and write chapter two today. I hope you enjoy!

Ty was so talkative as they walked up the hill from the beach that the man was wholly distracted by his jabbering, allowing Catelyn the luxury of remaining relatively quiet. Barely taking a breath, Ty told the man all about Tarth; the port, the marble mines, the small fishing villages that surrounded the coast, and even the system of beacons that surrounded the island that were to be lit in times of danger. Sensing that Ty was perhaps telling the mysterious man a little too much, Catelyn decided to protect her island by changing the subject onto something more pressing.

"Ty is quite right that the port is further up the coast," interjected Catelyn smoothly, tucking her hair behind her ear as she did, "yet you entered the island through the jetty. That is usually only used by the Evenstar and her family. Why did you have the right to do that?"

The man gave her a smile that once, in his younger years, may have been devil-may-care. Now, it was clouded by sadness. "As I said, I am an old friend of Pod's."

"Pod?" said Catelyn, surprised. No one called Podrick _Pod_ , other than the people who had known him from the old days; the Evenstar, the Queen of the North, and the Hand of King - Tyrion Lannister - when he came to visit the island before his annual trip to Pentos.

Perhaps it was the surprise she displayed while questioning the use of the name _Pod_ , but something in her inquiry made the man let out a breath of amusement. Seeing Cat and Ty exchange perplexed looks, he asked, "what is the matter?"

"No one calls my Da _Pod,"_ interrupted Ty, his mouth ajar. "Not even my Ma, because he said Pod's a boy's name. He's a man grown now; Ser Podrick Payne, hero of the Long Night, if you don't know him well." The man's barely suppressed amusement turned into laughter at Ty's valiant attempt to protect his father's good name, which only made Ty more annoyed. "What are you laughing about?"

"Oh, just that times change," the man replied with a charming smile. "When I met your father, he was not yet a knight and was still a boy. I saw him become a man though. Perhaps it is about time I call him Podrick."

That admission made Ty start excitedly babbling once more - _what was my father like when he was young? How old was he when you knew him? Did you know him before he met my mother?_ \- which Catelyn could have found annoying, but instead it gave her time to think. This man knew Podrick before he was a knight? That was so strange, because her mother had knighted Podrick soon after the Long Night, and then they had served on the Kingsguard together until they had retired to Tarth to await the future Evenstar's labour.

_That must mean..._

"Were you with my mother and Pod at Winterfell?" Catelyn asked, her heart beating faster with every word. Could this man possibly know something about who her father was? And what would it take to persuade him to tell her?

"You could say that," the man replied, taking his eyes from Catelyn's face in favour of gazing up at the fading sunlight peeking through the tree canopy. It truly did look beautiful, but she was sure that his sudden interest in it was an avoidant tactic.

As he gave her no firm answer, Catelyn furrowed her brow and bombarded him with a string of confused questions that she hoped would get her closer to the truth she desperately desired. "Well, did you fight during the Long Night? Is that how you met Podrick? Did you serve under my mother during the war?"

The man turned back to her, his lips quirking into an almost smile. "Yes, both Podrick and I served under your mother during the war... albeit in different ways."

"What different ways?" interrupted Ty confusedly. "My father was Brienne's squire. How did you serve her?"

To Catelyn's surprise, the man went a little red. "It was a long time ago, but we were soldiers together. Knights. Comrades in arms."

"And you knew her at Winterfell?"

"I..."

Just at that moment, the path they had been taking up the hill emerged from the thicket of trees it had been wending its way through since the beach, allowing the three of them a view of the island. From this position, Evenfall Town was visible in the valley below, as was the long river that led out to Port Town. On the opposite hill, it was possible to see miners dragging great blocks of marble down to the riverbank, where they were loaded onto barges to be taken out to sea. Tarth marble was used throughout the Stormlands and even beyond, right across the Narrow Sea. Yet the most famous building made from Tarth's chief export was hewn into the island itself. Morne Castle lay ruined in the distance, a bright white star against the shadows that were slowly encroaching on the surrounding land. Ancient. Shining. Lost. The man let out a breath of awe at the sight below them that made Catelyn immensely proud of her island, her home, and her people. For so long she had longed to make her mother proud but had felt like she could never live up to all that she was expected to be in order to become the next Evenstar. It was the sight of the island - majestic and beautiful - that made Catelyn worry that she never would.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" said Catelyn, as the man gazed out at the view, taking in every individual, wonderful thing that made her island her home.

"Yes," he said gently. "Many years ago, I sailed past Tarth but... I never knew it was paradise. She would never talk about..."

His words trailed off.

"Who?" asked Catelyn, her interest piqued. "Who would never say what?"

The man gave her yet another sad, heavy smile before lifting his arm out from under his cloak and pointing into the distance. Catelyn had to supress a gasp when she realised that he was missing his hand. "What is that?"

"What?" asked Ty, excited that they were no longer talking of things he did not understand. "Do you mean the ruins?"

"Yes," replied the man. "I did not know there was a ruined castle on Tarth."

Catelyn could not help but smile; there was nothing she loved more than sharing her knowledge of her home with people who wanted to know. "That's Morne, the castle built by the Andals when they crowned a Petty King of Tarth who ruled from the shore to the hills."

"I did not know that Tarth used to be a kingdom," said the man, pleased to be learning something new, even if it was about a little island to which he might never return.

"Yes," replied Catelyn proudly, honoured to have the blood of ancient kings coursing through her veins.

 _Ancient kings and unknown knights,_ she thought, somewhat bitterly.

As Catelyn's words trailed off, lost in thoughts of her missing father, Ty took over the narrative. "Morne was the seat of the greatest knight who ever lived; Ser Galladon of Morne, the Perfect Knight."

"Oh?" smiled the man, intrigued. "And what made him so perfect?"

"He was so brave and so true and so just that the Maiden herself fell in love with him," beamed Ty, washed away by the songs and stories of knightly valour that he had learnt at the Evenstar's knee. "She was awestruck by his inner virtues that she gave him an enchanted sword called the Just Maid in order to demonstrate her love for him."

The man raised an eyebrow, in something halfway between mockery and genuine interest. "And what did Ser Galladon do with the Just Maid? Save a princess from a tower? Cut down some wights that were threatening the last vestiges of humanity? Fight a hound?"

Ty clearly did not think the man was taking Tarth's proudest legend very seriously and bristled at the mocking suggestions. "Why would Ser Galladon of Morne want to fight a hound? He slayed a dragon. Why would he waste time on mangy dogs?"

As he turned to look back out at the view, the man's eyes seemed distant, full of sadness, and if he were gazing at a long dead world that only he remembered. "Because that is what the most valiant knight I have ever met did with her sword."

Something was stirring just behind that statement, Catelyn was sure, but she was not entirely clear what. "Who _are_ you?" asked Catelyn, changing the subject quite forcefully, intrigued by this man's seeming abiding love of obfuscation and mystery, but finding something familiar in it. Her own life had been framed in secrets. Why could she not just find out the answer to this man's identity?

At her question, the man paused for a moment, turning back from the view of Tarth to scrutinise her face with intense green eyes. "I knew your mother well," he said gently, "and you don't look much like her."

"My mother says that is a blessing," retorted Catelyn, repeating what her mother had said a thousand times before.

Once again, his lips quirked in something that could be interpreted as a smile. "Your mother has always been very good at seeing other people for what they truly are, but she has never countenanced looking at herself with half as much insight."

Catelyn thought that was a very inaccurate summation of her mother; Brienne of Tarth had always known what she was. A woman. A warrior. The Evenstar. "Never a wife," Brienne had told Catelyn, many years ago. "That was the one duty I could never fulfil..."

"She has always known who she is, what her duty is," said Catelyn proudly, determined to defend her mother from this man's criticisms. "And she has not faltered in that for a second."

"Oh, I do not doubt," smiled the man, pulling his maimed arm close to his chest. "Yet duty is not all there is in life."

"Isn't it?" asked Catelyn, confused at what this man was trying to say.

"Of course not," he replied, once again distant. "We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy."

Looking at this man - once handsome, once well-cared for, perhaps once loved - Catelyn could tell he had been mulling over that thought for some time. Years. Unable to interpret his expression accurately, maybe because she herself had never been in love, Catelyn wondered whether the great love of his life had been a glory, a tragedy, or both. It was difficult to tell in the rapidly dying light.

Catelyn was just about to ask him when he turned around, shaking off his pensive mood. Facing Ty, he gave the castellan's son a pat on the shoulder and something approaching a friendly smile. "Come. It is getting dark. We should hurry to Evenfall Hall."

Catelyn knew his plan was sensible yet, even so, she could not help but think there was something hidden behind his words that would find their other half under the rushes of her ancestral home.

It made her excited and scared in equal measure.

* * *

When they arrived back at Evenfall Hall, the servants were dashing around preparing for the evening feast, meaning that Catelyn and Ty were able to lead the man up to the Evenstar's audience chamber with no interruption. Although her mother now only occasionally attempted to come down from her chambers upstairs to sit in the room during the evening, in truth, she was far too sick to concentrate for such lengths of time. Therefore, when Catelyn herself was not present, Podrick would take the Evenstar's place, his devotion to his Lady Knight endless and deep.

"Oh, Da will be so excited to see an old friend from the war!" squawked Ty as the three of them traipsed up the stairs towards the audience room. "Apart from the Evenstar, he only sees Tyrion and Sansa when they come to visit. Maybe you can tell us some war stories!"

Catelyn could not help but affectionately roll her eyes at Ty for the casual way he spoke of the Hand of the King and the Queen of the North. Yet, it was unsurprising. He had grown up on a small, close-knit community on Tarth where everybody knew everybody else. Etiquette and deference seemed totally alien to him. She suspected that Ty would grow out of it one day - he was only twelve after all - as Catelyn believed that grown men could not afford to be so presumptuous about their social superiors.

At least, she had believed that until she met the man in Pentoshi clothes.

When they reached the audience chamber, Ty knocked on the door, all childish excitement and enthusiasm. It did not abate when he heard his father's voice, resonant and firm, from the other side of the door. "Come in." Pushing the door open, Ty went bundling inside, followed by Catelyn and the man. Podrick was sitting behind the desk, working on the neat accounts book that Catelyn's own mother had spent years slaving over. He did not immediately look up, not until Ty was almost right in front of him, exploding with excitement.

"Da! Da! You've got an old visitor! A friend from the war!"

"That's very nice," said Podrick, looking up briefly, almost casually. "That's..."

Then, quite suddenly, the world stood still. Podrick was still holding the quill and it hovered over the page, dropping spots of jet black ink onto the parchment. Normally, that would cause Podrick to mutter darkly to himself, but this time he barely noticed. Instead, Podrick's eyes were transfixed on the man in Pentoshi clothes, and he was staring at him as if the man had just stabbed him. In contrast, the man just smiled at Podrick crookedly.

"Hello Pod," he said, something of a laugh in his tone. "I have not seen you in a while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there was a Maester Aemon quote in there :)
> 
> Thank you for reading. If you liked that, please consider leaving comments and kudos <3


	3. The Castellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Podrick and the mysterious man talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here is chapter three! I hope you enjoy it!

If an old friend from her past had come to visit unexpectedly, Catelyn thought she would have reacted with surprise, but ultimately be happy to see them. At least, that is what she thought she would do if she ever saw Meg again. Meg Tanner had been her lady's maid who she had grown up with - like a tree and a vine - until Meg turned sixteen and went to marry to a stable hand at Storm's End. It seemed so unfair that a pimple-faced nobody got Catelyn's best friend when Meg was one of the few people who truly knew the inner workings of her heart; it was Meg with whom Catelyn shared her secrets, Meg who she told all the snatched gossip heard at her mother's side, and Meg who had taught her how to kiss, so one day she would know when she needed to satisfy a husband. It had been nice. Consequently, when Meg left, Catelyn had locked herself up in her room and cried and cried, refusing to come out. They still sent each other letters, but it was not the same as having her old friend on the island with her. That was why Podrick's reaction to his own lost friend seemed so strange. All he did was stare. And stare. And stare.

Eventually, the man in Pentoshi clothing seemed to realise what an absurd welcome Podrick's blank-eyed goggling was, so gave Tarth's castellan something approaching a jaunty smile in hope of opening him up. "Well, it’s nice to see you too, Pod. It’s been a long time."

If the man had expected warmth, Podrick disappointed him, as his reply was filled with more venom than Catelyn ever thought him capable of. "What are you doing here?" Podrick spat suddenly. " _How_ are you even here?"

Speared by questions, the man's smile turned sharply, becoming mocking where it was once friendly. "I've come for a visit and I came by boat, but I am sure that's not what you meant."

At that slightly barbed joke, Podrick dropped his quill and got to his feet, standing up to his full height. In comparison to the giants who lived on Tarth, Podrick was nothing impressive, but there was a steely determination behind his eyes that made him deceptively scary at times. Moving around the desk, the castellan bolstered himself, burning with a rage Catelyn never expected of him. "Leave. Now."

"But I want to see the Evenstar."

"You cannot. I will not allow it."

The man when to say something else, but Catelyn cut across him, confused at Podrick's reaction. "Why not? He says he is an old friend from the war. He says he was at Winterfell..."

"This man is not an _old friend,_ " growled Podrick, turning to look at Catelyn with all the unfriendliness and aggression he had been directing at the mysterious visitor up to that point. "This man has betrayed everything that is good and proper in this world. He is _not_ an old friend, Cat, and if your mother knew he was here, well... the shock would be too much for her."

"I did always have that effect on Brienne," smirked the man, with a practiced arrogance that suited him so well. Part of Catelyn wanted to laugh - the thought of her mother being shocked or shaken by anything seemed ridiculous - yet Podrick's answer crushed any jollity growing in her chest, like a man stepping on a snail.

"How dare you?" thundered Podrick, his rage making his face red and blotchy. "How dare you be so disrespectful of her after everything you've done?"

The man's smile vanished instantly. "I meant no disrespect..."

"Of course you did, or you would not even be here!" shouted Podrick, raising his voice, forcing Catelyn to step between him and the man, fearing there would be some sort of violence if she did not step in.

"I do not think he meant any disrespect," said Catelyn gently, recognising the man was wearing the same type of false superior arrogance she herself sometimes adopted if she felt cornered or nervous. "I just think it has clearly been a long time since he has seen you and did not know what welcome he was going to get."

Podrick turned to look at her, furrowing his brow in his anger. "Cat, do you know who this man is?"

As Catelyn stammered searching for an answer, Ty supplied one. "He just said he was an old friend, he said he would be welcome."

For all Ty's wide-eyed belief in what he had been told, he at least sounded a little unsure. Podrick clearly found that reaction gratifying, as it gave him the space to elaborate. "He's _not_ welcome, he will never be welcome here," stated Podrick firmly, brushing his son's explanation aside, before turning back to the visitor. "Have you given any thought to what your presence here would do to Brienne? Why now? Why after seventeen years? Seventeen years she believed you dead?"

Ty's mouth dropped open at that revelation, and he looked up at the visitor with new fascination; this man was not only from a glamorous, captivating part of his father's past, but he was a _back-from-the-dead_ man from a glamorous, captivating part of his father's past. Although Catelyn was much older and wiser at seventeen than Ty's twelve, she could not help but be equally intrigued. Why play dead for seventeen years and turn up in Tarth by an unofficial entrance? And what had he done that was so terrible that it caused Podrick to descend into total uncharacteristic apoplexy?

At Podrick's question, for the first time since he arrived, the man looked halfway serious. "I'm old and being old makes you reflect on the past. And... I heard about Brienne... that she's not well..."

"She's dying," said Podrick bluntly, using the truth as a weapon. It seemed a successful blade to adopt, as it appeared to wound. The man flinched. "She's dying," continued Podrick, "and the last thing she needs is being haunted by dead men while she is sick."

Sensing he was getting nowhere with Podrick with his original tactics, the man stepped forward raising his arms in a supplicatory gesture, his whole stance soft and strangely vulnerable. "I would still like to see her all the same. She was the only person who was kind to me when I was feverish, delirious, and covered in my own shit after I lost my hand. I thought I could repay the favour."

"No, you cannot," declared Podrick, his eyes burning with the flame of a thousand emotions Catelyn could not name. "I am here for her. Catelyn is here for her. Her family is here for her. She does not need you, because look how you repaid her kindness! You betrayed her... you betrayed us all."

The man let out a bitter laugh, exchanging softness for his familiar arrogant armour at the first sign that Podrick intended to fight. "Oh, don't you look at me like that too, Pod. Disappointed. Disgusted. I've lived with it all my life. Do you honestly think your disapproval will stop me seeing her? I have spent fifty years being reviled for my finest act; what is your hate in exchange for doing Brienne a small piece of kindness?"

"This is not kindness," spat Podrick, dropping his hand to the hilt of his sword, suspending in a scabbard from his belt. "This is cruelty. Seventeen years without a word and you come back now, just as she is trying to come to terms with the fact everything is ending. You know what she said to me? _On the other side, maybe I will see him._ I did not need to ask who she meant. Dead, she could turn you into something you never were. Alive, she will despise you."

The man in Pentoshi clothes stepped forward, all arrogance and anger, and for the first time since she had met him, Catelyn thought that more secrets than could possibly be counted swirled around him. The mystery only grew when the man said, "she hated me when she washed my wounds, cleaned up my shit, and wiped vomit from my beard. Despised me as an oath breaker. What is the difference if I am here for her now?"

"Then, you were captives and you had no choice," declared Podrick, telling half a tale that Catelyn did not understand. "Now, you would just be hurting her by being here. So, if you ever had any regard for her, _leave._ "

Even though he kept himself puffed up with his hand on the hilt of his sword, the unknown man was clearly considering Podrick's command. Catelyn could not help but stare at him, watching as he thought back through a story she did not know about, answers she did not have the questions for, and songs she could never sing. As the room descended into hushed anticipation, the man gave his reply.

"No."

Podrick grimaced. "Then I will have to make you."

Without another word, Podrick pulled his sword from his scabbard. He had been gifted the priceless Valyrian steel, Widow's Wail, by Catelyn's mother soon after she knighted him; he treasured it almost as much as his own children. In response to Podrick's challenge, the man unveiled a cheap shortsword clearly made by some backwater Essosi blacksmith. Catelyn expected Podrick to mock it, but instead it was the unknown man who laughed.

"Using my own sword against me, Pod. How unchivalrous."

"As if you would know anything about chivalry!" cried Podrick furiously, launching himself forward.

Given that they were only in her mother's reception room, Catelyn had to jump back, pulling Ty with her, to avoid being caught up in the skirmish. "Stop!" cried Ty as Catelyn wrapped her arms around him protectively, his voice becoming the high pitched whine of the small boy he was, "stop it Da! You'll get hurt!"

Normally, Catelyn would have argued with that supposition. She had not been exposed to many fighters, it was true, but besides her mother, Catelyn thought Podrick was one of the most skilled knights she knew. Yet, as it turned out, this mystery fighter was something else. Even though the man was much older than Podrick, with grey in his beard, and only in possession of one hand, he fought like he was dancing. Left. Right. Turn. Parry. Swing. There was something graceful and finely honed about his style, and he seemed to have an innate ability to know what Pod was going to do next. Quite annoyingly, it seemed he was aware of his gifts too.

"Come on, Pod," he smirked, his green eyes alight with a fire that Catelyn recognised as pleasure at a fight, "I thought Brienne taught you better than this! I'm an old cripple after all."

"Shut up!" bellowed Podrick furiously, clanging his sword against the man's again and again. "I'm not some boy you can treat like a squire! It's been seventeen years!"

"Seventeen years since we faced down the dead together, Pod," the man smiled, clearly thinking that evoking the past and saying Podrick's youthful nickname again and again would eventually win him over. "Why can't you let me see her? Just for that good deed alone?"

"Because she deserves better!" shouted Podrick, bringing his sword down on the man's once more. "She's always deserved better! She deserves better than you!"

"What on earth is all this noise? Podrick! Are you fighting down here? Are you...?"

As the Evenstar's voice rang out across the small room, both Podrick and the mysterious man dropped their swords to their sides, adopting the expressions of two misbehaving squires. Turning her head quickly to look at her mother, Catelyn could not help but recognise she was a shadow of herself. Brienne of Tarth was in the loose shirt and breeches she slept in, her hair sweaty and sticking to her forehead, her skin dull, her eyes lifeless. Having entered the room by the back stairs, it was clear she had just risen at the sound of fighting, compelled by nothing more than duty. Indeed, the only sign that she had not given herself over to a life totally confined in her bed was Oathkeeper, sheathed in its scabbard, which she used almost as a walking stick. At her appearance, a scared Ty dashed across the room, running to her side so he could start babbling his version of events before it all escaped him.

"Da's fighting with this man who is not an old friend who me and Cat met down on the beach. He said he knew you, and we believed him!"

Yet it seemed that the Evenstar had barely heard a word Ty said, as her blue eyes had gone so wide it was as if all the light in the room was sucked into them. Staring wildly at the unknown visitor, she clapped her free hand over her mouth, determined to catch unspoken words and muffle them to silence.

At her reaction, the man just smiled. Soft. Perhaps tender. Complicated.

"Wench."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much for reading! If you enjoyed that, please consider leaving comments and kudos. I luuuuurrrrvvvveeee them!


	4. Kingslayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne meets the mysterious visitor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thank you for coming back! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Sorry that I have been so late in replying to comments; rest assured I appreciate each and every one.

_Wench_ was rather a strange word, almost rude, Catelyn thought. Most highborn ladies would be insulted to be compared to the common guttersnipes in low-cut dresses who served beer at the taverns that lined the Kingsroad, or to the tawdry camp followers that men used for their pleasure having just escaped death by the scratch of a blade in battle. Yet the way the mysterious visitor said it - softly, gently, tenderly - made Catelyn think it ranked with the great vocative beginnings of the romantic poems she knew her mother had hidden in the library.

_O, my love. O, my lady._ _O, my sun and moon._

_O, wench._

What made it even stranger was that no one ever addressed the Evenstar like that, with such easy familiarity. Podrick was always reverent and deferential, Ty bubbly and excitable, while Catelyn herself adopted that aloof distance so common between young maids and their mothers. All three of them cared for Brienne of Tarth, but none would have dared to address the Evenstar the way the mysterious visitor just had, as if they truly knew her. As if she were an open book. Perhaps it was the singular absurdity of such an address - _wench_ \- that silenced her mother, Catelyn could not tell, but either way the Evenstar remained with her hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide. While Catelyn burned with a thousand questions, her mother remained dumbstruck, seemingly unable to comprehend the vision before her.

Not getting an answer, the man tried again, "I know it has been a long time, wench, but I..."

"A long time," spluttered the Evenstar, suddenly snapped out of her shock, her voice louder than it had been at any point during her sickness. "A _long time_? Is that all you've got to say? It's been a LONG TIME?"

"A _very_ long time?" suggested the man, giving her a weak smile.

That, however, turned out to be the worst thing he could have said, as Brienne of Tarth let out a laugh, harsh and bitter, before fixing him with an enraged look. "Seventeen years! Seventeen years I thought you were dead! Seventeen _whole_ years and you just come swanning back in armed with _wench_!"

As she raged, Catelyn's mother's cheeks became flushed, as if she had just been in a sword fight, out training with one of the squires who gave her a particularly good fight. Sensing she was overexerting herself, Podrick interrupted. "I tried to make him go, my lady, but he wouldn't..."

"Of course he wouldn't, Pod," she spat venomously, taking a couple of shaky steps towards the visitor while balancing all her weight on Oathkeeper. "When I wanted him to stay more than anything in the world, he fled in the middle of the night, and when I would have been happier that he stayed dead... of _course_ he is here. The gods have not yet finished playing tricks on me yet." Seeing her mother initially buoyed by rage, Catelyn was surprised to find the Evenstar's tone softening into sadness as she spoke of the Stranger's games. It was cruel that her illness stole her physical strength; it had once been her calling card, after all. It was even worse that it made her so vulnerable.

Swallowing heavily, the man stepped forward, while Catelyn's mother flinched back. It almost seemed a reaction governed by fear, something Catelyn had never expected from the formidable Evenstar. The man seemed to sense that too, as his face fell. "This is no trick, my lady."

"Of course it is a trick," she replied quickly, her voice breaking. "It has to be. You are _dead_."

"Plainly, I am not," he said, his lips curling into an echo of a smile.

"How?" she asked, almost waspishly, as if it was an irritation that he was not dead. "Pray tell. How did you manage to survive Aegon the Conqueror's finest piece of architecture collapsing on your head?"

 _The Red Keep?_ thought Catelyn curiously. _My mother thought this man died in the fall of the Red Keep..._

"Tyrion," he said, as if that explained everything.

"Tyrion?" gasped Catelyn's mother, just as Podrick's jaw opened in surprise. "But Tyrion told us he found your body entwined with... _hers."_

Just as _wench_ had made Catelyn's mother overreact, the word _hers_ had the same effect on the visitor. "I imagine that was all part of the plan. Queen Daenerys would not have been too pleased to know that we had escaped to Pentos on a rowboat."

The mention of Queen Daenerys sent a shiver through Lady Catelyn. It was her that the servants whispered of at night, of the last Mad Targaryen who had burnt down King's Landing in her lust for power. The monster that featured in stories to scare children. At her mention, Ty shot Catelyn a look - palpably scared - but Catelyn barely noticed, as she was scrutinising the fiery gaze that her mother and the man were sharing, searching it for some clue as to his identity.

"Pentos," said Catelyn's mother softly, seemingly tying the past together in a way she had never been able to before. "He comes here every year before he crosses the Narrow Sea to visit the city. The Hand claimed it was always for business, but... he was visiting you, wasn't he?"

The man shrugged, irritatingly nonchalant. "I would not know. I have not seen my brother in fifteen years. I did not spend my time in Pentos."

"No?" retorted the Evenstar, a challenge in her tone, "did the square brick towers bore you? Or was the most populous of the free cities too small for _her_ ambition?"

 _Her,_ mused Catelyn. _There she is once more._ _Who is this mysterious her that haunts my mother so?_

"Again, I cannot answer your question," he replied, his voice heavy, weighed down by the unsaid. "I have not seen her in a very long time."

"You surprise me," said Catelyn's mother, in a tone that Catelyn would think cruel if it came from someone else. "I was led to believe she was everything to you."

Although her mother's statement was anything but kind - clipped, short, and harsh - the man gave her as a look as sweet as honey in response. "You are quite wrong there, wench. Quite wrong."

"Do not call me wench!" she thundered; her eyes aflame, more alive than they had been in months. "You lost that right when you left in the middle... _cough..._ of the night... _cough..._ and betrayed everything that was important... _cough..._ your allies... _cough..._ the army of the living... _cough..._ me..."

In her fury, a coughing fit had overtaken her mother's weakening body, and as the Evenstar lifted her hand to her face, Catelyn could see the tell tale spots of blood seeping through her fingers. At the sight, the man stepped forward, his eyes full of concern - "Brienne, I..." - but she held a warning hand up, flinching backwards as her eyes burned brightly with memories of a past that Catelyn did not know.

"Stay away," she snapped, as Podrick rushed to her side, bolstering her with his body so she would not collapse onto the cold marble floor of the audience chamber. At her order, the man meekly bowed his head and, at his retreat, the Evenstar pressed her advantage, even as her tone became hurt and wounded. "Seventeen years, and you come back when I am _dying_. How could you? I thought you reckless, irrational, foolhardy, self-hating, but never this cruel. You betrayed me, betrayed _us_. You let me grieve. Why couldn't you just stay dead? That way I could remember what you were... that way, I could have dreamed. It would have been the kind thing to do."

"Brienne, let me explain..." he replied imploringly, gazing at her as if she held the world in her hands. The Evenstar did not let him finish his sentence.

"You are hateful," she spat, in between her wheezing, "I did not believe it once, not for years, even though you told me so, but that you would do this... come back now when I'm... _cough_... dying."

For the first time since he had arrived on Tarth, the man displayed an emotion that seemed naked and genuine. "That's why I am here. I want to help you, like you helped me. When I heard the rumours, I came as quickly as I could..."

"I do not want your help. Go back to your sister," she barked, barely looking at him, "it's where you belong."

Looking from the man to her mother, Catelyn could tell that the latter's suggestion wounded as well as a knife, going by the former's expression. It inspired so many questions in Catelyn, but she did not have time to ask them, as Podrick reached out and scooped the Evenstar under the arm, holding her up. "My lady, perhaps it is time you return to your chamber."

"Yes, Pod," she agreed gently, packing her anger away in order to retreat back into the physical weakness caused by her illness. "I should... retire."

"Lady Brienne," the man said, replacing the familiar _wench_ with her title to try and ingratiate himself even slightly. "Please let me explain. Please give me a chance to tell you why I am here, why I have come back now..."

For a split second, Catelyn thought her mother was going to soften her stance and agree to listen to whatever the man had to say, but Podrick interrupted. "The Evenstar doesn't want to hear anything you have to say. If you ever had any respect for her, _leave_."

Ignoring Podrick, the man tried again. "Brienne, I..."

"Tyrion gave me your gold hand you know," interjected Catelyn's mother suddenly. "He supposedly found it in the ruin of the Red Keep. Was that a lie too? Another decoy made of fool's gold, just like you were?"

At her mother's half broken, half taunting statement, Ty almost span round in his effort to gaze at Catelyn, his mouth ajar in dawning horror. He loved the stories that Gertie the cook and Pippa the scullery maid told about the wars that predated his birth, and none more than the tale of treachery that led the first sack of King's Landing, during Robert's Rebellion. Yet Catelyn could barely look at him, because what he suspected was written all over his face, and it was almost too impossible to be true.

 _The only monster worse than Daenerys Targaryen,_ she thought, staring at the man with mounting horror, _is the one that slew her father._

_Kingslayer._

"Brienne," the man croaked, seemingly abandoned by his words. " _Please."_

She shook her head and Catelyn could have sworn she could see tears welling in her eyes. "Leave me be," she ordered, tortured. "Leave me be, phantom."

Sensing there was no changing her mind, the man slumped into himself, thoroughly defeated, before bending into an awkward bow. Catelyn could not help but think that it looked unnatural on him, as if he was averse to deference, especially to Brienne of Tarth. Taking the opportunity the man had afforded him, Podrick turned to his son, looking at him sharply. "Ty, go up to Lady Brienne's chamber and check everything is in order."

"But..."

" _Now,_ " said Podrick resolutely. Once Ty had let out a dramatic sigh and gone scampering up the back stairs, Podrick turned to the Evenstar. "Come, my lady. Let's get you to bed. Today has been very vexing for you."

Catelyn's mother did not immediately respond to her former squire's order, just nodded wearily. "Yes, Pod. That sounds nice."

"Good," replied Podrick soothingly, leading Catelyn's mother towards the back stairs. Once they reached the door, Podrick craned his neck in order to shoot another furious look at the visitor. "Did you not hear me? _Leave."_

Perhaps knowing the battle was lost, the man in Pentoshi clothes gave Podrick and the Evenstar another stiff bow, and only returned to his full height once the door slammed behind them. As it was only the two of them, Catelyn found herself staring at the man, frantically trying to paint in the missing colours of his portrait. He was tall, yes, once golden haired. He only had one hand, and he possessed a kind of arrogance that only came from fine breeding. A mysterious _she_ lingered off-stage, and Catelyn wondered whether her mother could have been referring to his hated sister, and whether that sister was...

_Queen Cersei, first of her name..._

The longer she stared at him, the more Catelyn saw a long dead monster from a story she had listened to with equal care as a fairy tale. Was it possible that this non-descript aging Pentoshi merchant could truly be the Kingslayer? Her mother had thought him killed in the ruins of the Red Keep and said she had his gold hand; a secret which Catelyn had never been privy to.

 _Why would Lord Tyrion have given it to my mother?_ wondered Catelyn for a moment, before settling on a satisfactory answer. _Perhaps he thought she would sell it for coin. The days after the war were hard._

_Then why did she keep it?_

In her confusion, Catelyn never thought to ask him any of her mounting questions, so was taken a little off guard when he nodded at her quickly and then left the room, his inexpensive cloak billowing behind him. Even though she knew that she should check on her mother, Catelyn could not help but chase after him, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

_The Kingslayer, the great traitor, fought at the Battle of Winterfell and betrayed Queen Daenerys' army to his sister, his lover, in the days after the Long Night. Even though he is the worst of men, perhaps he knows..._

Slowed by her musings, by the time Catelyn caught up with the mysterious guest, he was halfway down the corridor, the sound of his footsteps ringing off the marble floor. "Are you leaving? Permanently?" called Catelyn, a little concernedly, even though his general direction of travel told him the answer.

At her question, the man turned around, his expression taking on a softness it had not had back in her mother's audience chamber. In spite of all her suspicions, Catelyn thought there was too much gentleness in his eyes for him to truly be the hated Kingslayer. There must be another explanation. "Tomorrow, yes," he confirmed, his tone weary. "I know when I am not wanted. I will get the first ship from Port Town to... wherever."

"But... you _can't,"_ replied Catelyn, barely able to suppress the whine that was threatening to overtake her as she stepped towards him. If this man drifted away on some Pentoshi junk, or an Ironborn galley, Catelyn feared her only chance of ever truly knowing the secret which sat immovably at the centre of her life would be lost in the sea breeze.

"Why not?"

_Because you were at Winterfell, Kingslayer, and perhaps you saw something. Perhaps you are the only person who knows the truth of who my father is who may be willing to tell me._

"Because... because..." Catelyn stammered, unable to find an alternative answer that would not sound so needy and self-centred. As she stumbled over her words, the man kept looking at her, as if he was waiting for an answer that he hoped she would give him. However, Catelyn could not tell what he wanted to hear, so she let her objections trail away along with the hope in his green eyes.

"I will be staying at the Blue Pig," the man said, not meeting her imploring gaze. "That was the name of the inn your friend Ty mentioned, wasn't it?"

"Yes," mumbled Catelyn, kicking herself that the moment to ask was now lost, fallen to rubble like the ruins of Morne Castle. In acknowledgement of this new state of affairs, the man gave her a polite nod.

"It was good to meet you, Lady Catelyn. I wish you a pleasant evening."

And then, without another word, the mysterious visitor turned on his heel and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, I hope you liked that! This one was a tough one to write, so I would love to know what you think! <3


	5. Green Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn and Ty go in search of the Kingslayer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for coming back! 
> 
> Lots of people asked in the comments last time if Brienne was doomed. As I am a bit behind on answering comments, I will state it here; I don't really like spoiling my stories, but this fic is tagged Major Character Death and Brienne is currently dying of an illness. Even though that is the case, this is not going to be a miserable ending and am aiming for hopeful.
> 
> Also, I have upped the rating, just FYI.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

When the Evenstar went to bed, the whole of Evenfall Hall followed soon after. It was as if everyone - from the castellan down to the lowliest scullery maid - could not cope with the loss of the brightest star in their local constellation, the one that would provide them with true north even during the darkest of times, so bedded down the second her light was gone. Therefore, the castle was quiet and dark long before Catelyn was truly tired, leaving her with nothing to do but sit on her bed and think. Unbidden, her thoughts turned to the mysterious visitor.

 _Could he really be the Kingslayer?_ she wondered, turning the memory of him over and over in her mind as if to see him from all angles. The Kingslayer was a legend. Notorious. His incestuous relationship with his sister had been salacious and sensual, and his murder of the Mad King infamous and bloody. Yes, he had leant his sword to the living during the Long Night, but was one good deed truly enough to redeem such a monstrous soul? And yet, Catelyn could not help but think that the man she had met on the beach was no villain just... a man.

 _A man who was a witness,_ she thought, _if it truly was him, to the secret my mother has been keeping from me all my life._

_And tomorrow he will be on a ship, sailing away... forever._

Leaping out of bed, Catelyn hurriedly put her clothes back on and wrapped a cloak around her shoulders. This was her one opportunity and she was determined to seize it. If that man truly was the Kingslayer, then he must have been aware of the rumours circulating around her mother when they shared a small moment together in Winterfell. Had she had a favourite singer? Had there been some knight who had bought her sweet treats from the dinner table? Had there been a green-eyed man who had seen something beautiful in Brienne of Tarth, and had it shone in his smile every time he looked at her?

 _Or was it just one night?_ wondered Catelyn. _Is that why she is ashamed? Because I am the product of some drunken fumble? I know men have needs, so perhaps mother did someone a favour in the heady hours after a battle._

_Or perhaps she was raped._

_No,_ Catelyn did not want to dwell on that thought.

Once she was suitably dressed and warm, Catelyn blew the candle out that sat by her bedside and left her room, moving as quietly as she could. The castle was shadowy and bathed in moonlight, the setting for a thousand ghost stories. It almost made Catelyn want to dance, alive in the darkness with a song that Podrick had sung her as a girl.

_High in the halls of the kings who are gone_

_Jenny would dance with her ghosts._

_The ones she had lost and the ones she had found._

_And the ones who loved her the most._

_The ones who'd been gone for so very long_

_She couldn't remember their names._

_They spun her around on the damp, old stones,_

_Spun away all her sorrows and pain._

_And she..._

Catelyn had never known what the song was called, nor had she ever heard the end of it, as just at the moment Podrick had reached the refrain, her mother had burst into the room and forbade from him singing it ever again. The order was later issued to the servants and, consequently, there had been a second minor mystery in Catelyn's life to accompany the first. Why did her mother hate that song? Was it the words? Or an unfathomable meaning that stretched behind it?

Yet, at that moment, Catelyn had no time for old songs. Luckily for her, Ty never bolted his door at night, so once she reached his chamber, she could slip in without causing alarm. Unlike Catelyn herself, Ty clearly had not been mulling over the mysteries of the day as he was fast asleep, snoring like a piglet hunting for truffles. Amused, Catelyn approached him slowly and then tried to shake him awake, taking care not to be too forceful. Even so, Ty jumped in shock after one quick shove.

"Huh? Wha? Uhh? What's going on?"

"Ty," Catelyn whispered urgently, "it's just me. Cat."

Yawning, Ty wiped a lazy hand across his sleepy eyes, blinking to adjust himself to the darkness of the room. "What's the matter? It's late."

"I know," she said, climbing onto his bed so she could sit facing him. As the bed moved, he furrowed his brown concernedly in such a way that she was instantly reminded of his father. "It's just... do you really think that man was the Kingslayer?"

At her question, Ty seemed to wake up instantly, overcome once more by childish glee and incredulous horror. "I do not know, but wouldn't it be amazing if he was? The Kingslayer, alive all this time... and we met him, Cat!"

He was grinning so brightly that it took Catelyn a moment to realise that Ty had not quite realised how profound that state of affairs was; he was too preoccupied that he had met a character from a story, albeit the villain. Reaching out, Catelyn took his hand and squeezed his fingers. "But don't you know what that means?"

"No," replied Ty, shrugging his shoulders.

Cat leant forward, barely able to keep her excited anticipation at bay. "He was at Winterfell, Ty. He may know who my father is."

Ty's eyes grew big and wide as comprehension slowly dawned on him. However, he did not seem so instantly thrilled by the prospect as Catelyn was. "But would he tell you? This is the Kingslayer we are talking about. He is known for lying and cheating. Why would he tell you the truth?"

Although she knew Ty's concerns were valid, Catelyn could only sigh. "He is my only hope," she said sadly, the desperation leaking into her tone. "And he is going away tomorrow. If I do not ask him tonight, I might never know the truth."

Looking momentarily puzzled, Ty shifted in the bed somewhat uncomfortably. "But what can we do? Your Ma and my Da have sent him away."

"He told me he is going to be staying in the Blue Pig. If we go now, we can catch him before morning... before he leaves."

At that idea, Ty's bit his lip and he seemed a little fearful. "But it is the middle of the night. The two of us cannot walk down to Evenfall Town in the dark. We will get lost!"

"Don't be ridiculous," smiled Catelyn in a way she hoped was encouraging. "We know those woods like the back of our hands."

"But there are outlaws in the woods!" Ty squawked. "Gertie told me so! They say Robin the Red skins people alive, and Tam Stoker cuts off the body parts of those he captures to send to their families to ask for ransom! It is not as if your Ma has a fortune built on sapphires to pay for us!"

Catelyn had to suppress an eye roll; Ty was always a lover of an outlandish story spread by the servants. "Tyrion Payne," she said admonishingly, "I thought that you wanted to be a knight, just like your father."

"I do!" he spluttered, looking at Catelyn crossly. "You know I do!"

"Well, would a brave knight refuse a quest from a fair lady?" she asked him, playing on his love for all the old stories and songs her mother had told him when he was a boy. "Wouldn't a knight want to go to the ends of the earth in the name of adventure?"

"Is that what this is? An adventure?"

Even though his eyes were filled with a sweet, childish innocence, Catelyn felt compelled to lie. "Of course it is. You will be a brave knight on a quest for the truth. What more could a young man like you ask for?"

* * *

In the end, it was a shot at being in the stories that finally persuaded Ty to get out of bed, put on some clothes, and pick up the small dagger his father had given him for safety when he was a child. Catelyn had a similar weapon stored in the folds of her dress; she prayed she would not have to use it. Once Ty was ready, the two of them made a silent exit from Evenfall Hall, only witnessed by the ghosts from an unsung song as they walked out into the moonlit night. A thrum of excitement vibrated between them. When they arrived at the Blue Pig, the inn was fairly full, so both of them kept their hoods on their cloaks up. It would do no good for them to be recognised. Almost immediately, Catelyn could spot the seaman and merchants who would be tasked with transporting Tarth marble to the mainland on the morrow, as well as Essosi traders who would be taking it back the other way. Just as ghosts danced in the marble halls of Evenfall and Morne, so too would they dance in Storm's End and Lannisport, Norvos and Braavos, Astapor and Qarth. It had always been the way.

With Ty following closely behind, Catelyn approached the innkeep, a strong, dour looking woman by the name of Jeyne Fellman. Approaching quietly, Catelyn made sure she was not near any other customers when she went to speak to Mistress Jeyne. Only when she was close did the innkeep recognise Catelyn, and her grey eyes went wide.

"Lady Catelyn! What are you doing here at this time of night?"

"Looking for someone," replied Catelyn honestly, as Ty nodded away beside her. "Earlier today he was seen wearing the garb of a Pentoshi merchant but spoke the Common Tongue. He was perhaps in his late fifties, early sixties, and only has one hand. He told me he was staying here. Have you seen him?"

Letting out an amused chuckle at her description, Mistress Jeyne nodded. "Aye, I've seen him. Ever since he arrived, he has been curled up in his cloak by the fire with a beer, as if this were the North, not Tarth. He won't talk to nobody though, so I think you are trying your luck. He is just over there."

With a flick of the wrist, Mistress Jeyne indicated towards the shadowy figure by the fire. Against the bright orange light, he seemed so shrouded in darkness and despair that it was a surprise that no one else had named him as the Kingslayer outright. It was as if he had walked straight out of a history book, all shadowy malevolence and dark glamour.

"Thank you, Mistress Jeyne," said Catelyn sincerely.

"That's quite alright, my lady," the innkeep replied, her voice kind. "If I were you, though, I would be careful with that one. Ghosts follow him." Not quite understanding what that meant, Catelyn gave Mistress Jeyne one thankful nod before heading off towards the fire, Ty trotting in her wake.

"What do we say to him?" he asked, his voice clearly belonging to a boy rather than the man he hoped to become. "He's the _Kingslayer._ How are you going to make him listen?"

Catelyn shrugged and, adopting a strategy her mother would totally disapprove of, she said, "I am going to improvise."

Perhaps trusting in her age, her wisdom, or even her confidence, Ty nodded and followed her across the room, right to where the man sat. When they approached, the mysterious visitor did not move nor say anything, just sat staring into the fire. Trying to capture his attention, Catelyn took a wooden stool from the next table and pulled it towards him, close enough so when she sat on it, she could reach out and touch him. Ty clambered onto the floor, crossing his legs, looking up at the man as if he expected him to tell him a story. Quite unobligingly, the man said nothing.

Catelyn tried to provoke him by clearing her throat. "Ser, I..."

"You know," he said, still gazing at the flickering forms dancing in the fire, "the night before the Battle of Winterfell was like this. Just a few people in a room around a fire. Tyrion was leading the whole thing, begging for stories and songs, and Pod obliged. He sang that night."

Podrick had a beautiful voice, so Catelyn could believe it of him. It was what she would want to hear as she feared death. "Who else was there?" Catelyn asked, hoping to put the scene together and suddenly have the face of her father revealed.

"Ser Davos Seaworth... a good man, but I hear he is dead now."

"He is," replied Catelyn swiftly. She had done her research.

"Mmm," said the man, sounding his sadness in the back of his throat. "And then there was that great wildling, Tormund Giantsbane. He claimed he was kissed by fire and that he could give your mother lots of giant children."

That claim hit Catelyn harder than she expected. "My mother loved a wildling?"

"No," the man snorted, something approaching a smile on his lips as he finally turned away from the fire to look at her. "Your mother had no time for him. She thought him too brutish. For all her love of swordplay and fighting, I think Brienne of Tarth longed for something softer."

"Did she find it?" Catelyn asked, the words tumbling from her mouth along with the coiled nervousness that had been rooted in her belly ever since Podrick had laid eyes on the man.

The man shrugged. "I wouldn't know... but I hope she did."

Silence bloomed between them once more as the man went to look back into the flames. Catelyn wondered what he saw there. Some people claimed that the red priests who followed the Lord of Light could see the future in flames. Unfortunately, Catelyn herself did not believe, so she saw nothing but light and shadow mating.

"Ser?" piped up Ty when the silence got too much for him.

"Yes?" replied the man, taking a sip of beer.

Ty bit his lip. "Are you... the Kingslayer?"

The man let out something that could have been a laugh or a growl, depending on one's perspective. "Some people called me that... once."

"Jaime Lannister," gasped Catelyn, barely able to keep the dread and the awe out of her voice as she gazed at this man; once golden, now grey, two hands reduced to one. The frame fitted the picture perfectly. "So it is true. You are the Kingslayer."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, the expression full of a kind of soft mockery. "Are you dim-witted, girl, or do you just like playing the innocent like your mother?"

At his casual insult, Catelyn felt her temper spike. Nothing made her as wroth as wounded pride. "You will address me as Lady Catelyn, ser. You are a guest on my island."

"And yet it is you who has come seeking me," he replied, before putting his beer down and warming his one good hand by the fire. "Why have you come, pray tell? I am sure it is not to hear an old man reminisce about the war."

Liking that he was wrong, Catelyn looked at him imperiously. "Actually, that is _exactly_ why I am here. I want to ask you about what you remember about your time at Winterfell."

The Kingslayer's eyes dropped from her face and he began to admire the intricate needlework on the left side of her cloak. "I do not like talking about Winterfell."

"Well I know that is untrue," replied Catelyn swiftly. "It was you who brought up the night before the battle, not me."

At that statement, the Kingslayer looked distinctly uncomfortable. "That night was different."

"Why?"

When he met her gaze once more, the firelight danced in his eyes, filling them with the ghosts that Mistress Jeyne had seen. "That was the _last_ night. I had come North with the plan to die in battle. Valiantly. A hero. Everything I never thought myself. When the dead approached, what hope did I have? I, a one-handed cripple. It was only Widow's Wail that saw me through, that and your mother."

Scrabbling around for answers, Ty and Catelyn spoke at once.

"Widow's Wail? But that's my Da's sword!"

"You fought with my mother?"

This time the Kingslayer truly laughed, perhaps at their youthful excitement. Catelyn had never expected a monster from a story to be able to experience fleeting happiness like that. "Yes, I once wielded Widow's Wail, and yes I once fought with your mother. Do you know that Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail are twins? They were forged from Ice, House Stark's ancestral Valyrian greatsword. My father had them made for me and Joffrey. I thought it was a mocking gift - I had just lost my hand - while Joff decided to use Widow's Wail to carve up a copy of _The Lives of Four Kings_ at his wedding feast. He was never very wise."

It was the way he said a tyrant's name so casually - _Joff_ \- that made Catelyn's blood run cold. "You mean your _son_ was not very wise."

The Kingslayer winced before composing himself once more. "Yes, my son. Joffrey was my son, there is no point in hiding it. He was not my only child though. I had another son, Tommen, who was a sweet boy, and daughters..."

"I am not here to ask after your children," said Catelyn firmly, thinking how several good children could never outweigh a monster like Joffrey. "Good deeds cannot erase the bad, after all."

If there had ever been anything in his expression other than sadness, it did not seem possible now, as his face fell. "No?"

"No," replied Catelyn, knowing that if you followed the North Star, there was no way you could ever deviate from its light if you truly abhorred the shadow.

The Kingslayer gave Catelyn a rueful smile. "I think your mother might disagree with that summation. She could always see the good in people, and always thought good was worth more than bad."

To Catelyn's surprise, the Kingslayer's voice was almost full of tenderness as he spoke of the Evenstar. Given the reception he had received from Brienne of Tarth earlier that day, Catelyn found she could not understand. "How did you know my mother?"

"I knighted her."

"You did?" replied Catelyn as Ty's mouth fell open in shock.

The man nodded; his expression filled with soft tenderness, blooming like a flower. "That night by the fire. And then Pod sang. I bet she never told you that."

"No," conceded Catelyn. "She did not."

Again, there was another silence, but this time Catelyn filled the emptiness with a song in her head. Jenny stood in a ruined castle - perhaps Morne, perhaps the Red Keep, perhaps Summerhall - remembering through singing. Watching the way the Kingslayer stared into the fire, remembering a snowy night years earlier, it was clear he wished to dance with his ghosts too. It was a sentiment Catelyn could sympathise with.

"You knew my mother well, then?"

"You could say that," the Kingslayer replied, running his hand through his grey-and-gold beard almost soothingly.

Trying to build up her nerve, Catelyn shot a look at Ty, who smiled at her encouragingly. It gave her the strength to plough onwards. "Do you know, then?"

The Kingslayer furrowed his brow. "Know what?"

Sensing there was nothing else for it, Catelyn just told him, the words marching out of her mouth with little input from her brain. It seemed easier that way. "Who my father is. I am a legitimised bastard you see. Seventeen years old, legitimised by King Brandon on my mother's request so I could inherit her island. All I know is that my mother and father were together in Winterfell, that I was conceived in the closing days of the war, and for reasons known only unto my mother, she never speaks of him and will not tell me the truth. She has also sworn anybody who does know something to secrecy - Podrick, the Queen of the North, the Hand of the King - leaving me with no choice but to throw myself on your mercy. You were at Winterfell when my father was. You said you knew my mother. If you saw something, it would mean the world to me if you could just tell me what you know. I _have_ to know."

Given his reactions thus far, Catelyn had expected the Kingslayer to listen to her tale with a kind of mocking indifference. Therefore, she was a little surprised when his mouth fell open in something resembling shock, and his eyes went so wide that Catelyn almost saw nothing but green.

"You... you... were conceived at Winterfell?"

"Yes," replied Catelyn, the word heavy.

The Kingslayer narrowed his eyes, clearly stitching together his memories together in a new way that he had not tried before. "You, Catelyn of Tarth, were conceived at Winterfell, seventeen years ago, by your mother Brienne of Tarth."

"Yes," said Catelyn again, this time imbuing her answer with the exasperated confusion she felt deep within herself. "By my mother and my mysterious father. If you knew her well enough to knight her, surely you may have spotted a man coming from her chamber..."

"Oh no," huffed the Kingslayer, almost laughing. "I would have noticed if I spotted a man coming from her chamber. I made it my business."

Growing even more confused by this reaction, Catelyn looked at him imploringly. "Are you saying you know nothing?"

"No," replied the Kingslayer, still laughing as if this was all some tremendous, bitter joke. "But even if I do know something, I would not tell you."

Catelyn's temper flared at once. She was so tired of people thinking they had a right to keep this enormous part of her life secret from her. It had been possible for her to forgive Podrick, her mother, and Queen Sansa, because Catelyn knew they cared for her. But the Kingslayer? From him, it felt like spite.

"Why not?" she asked, a storm growing in her voice. "What is it to you?"

His eyes still enchanted by the flames, the Kingslayer only answered her first question. "Your mother wants to keep it secret. If that is what she wants... that is what she wants."

For a moment, Catelyn wondered if he was falling back into his habitual sadness once more but, not having any room for understanding, she found herself barking at him. "Do you know what this secret has done to me? For years, people have been laughing behind my back. They call me a bastard and my mother a whore. Some think me a foundling, come to steal Tarth from one of my mother's grasping cousins. I am despised for something I cannot control, mistrusted for a mistake my parents made..."

"I am not sure it was a mistake," said the Kingslayer swiftly, suddenly looking uneasy. Catelyn had no patience for amelioration now, however.

"Why?" she spluttered, "were you there with them?"

Catelyn thought he would counter that with another mocking joke, but instead the Kingslayer just blushed. "Lady Catelyn, I..." At his expression, a horrible thought hit Catelyn - the Kingslayer was a man, just as Brienne of Tarth was a woman - but she pushed it away as quickly as it had arisen.

"How could you, the Lion of Lannister, ever understand what it is to be hated for a secret?" Catelyn snarled, turning into the wounded animal she sometimes felt she was inside at his resistance. "A secret you cannot even name."

Quite suddenly, the Kingslayer's nostrils flared and he bit back at her angrily. "You think I don't know what it is like to be hated for a secret? Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Man without honour. I killed the king I was sworn to protect and spent a lifetime despised. Of course I understand what it is like to be despised when other people do not even know the whole truth."

"Then why don't you tell me?" she implored, her voice thinning out into a whine. "Why don't you tell me who my father is? At least let me understand why I must live this way."

For a few precious seconds, the Kingslayer stared at Catelyn, seemingly taking in every feature; the gold of her hair, the green of her eyes, her freckles, her delicate nose. Some said she was beautiful and part of her hoped that her physical appeal may persuade him, even though Catelyn herself had never had much truck for men’s desire. The moment continued to spin out tantalisingly for a little longer before the Kingslayer once more dropped her gaze. "No," he said, his voice breaking. "Your mother would not like it."

At the Kingslayer's answer - final, resolute - Ty stared up at Catelyn, a tense expression on his face. He was clearly waiting for a reaction and was already trying to work out how to best soothe the situation. Catelyn, however, did not want to give the Kingslayer - who was little better than dirt on her shoe - the satisfaction. Standing up to her full height, Catelyn stared down out him, hoping to show how low she thought him.

"I had hoped that you could do me this kindness, ser," she declared, tears gathering around her anger, "but perhaps that was too much to ask from the Kingslayer."

She had meant it to cut but, to Catelyn's surprise, at the word Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister physically flinched, as if she had just slapped him. In her anger, she had not room for sympathy or empathy, so turned to Ty, who was scrabbling to his feet. "Come on Ty, we best get back."

"Yes Cat," he replied, putting a protective hand on her back.

Wanting no more of the Kingslayer and his shattered memories, his ghosts, and his sadness, Catelyn looped an arm around Ty and turned to go, but a voice stopped her. "Lady Catelyn," the Kingslayer called, his voice low. Not wanting to deign him with an answer to his summons when he had been so rude, Catelyn turned back to face him, barely able to keep her indignant fury at bay.

"What?" she snapped, suddenly sympathising with her mother and Podrick's reactions when they had first seen this man back at Evenfall Hall. At her tone, she expected the Kingslayer to grow sullen, or angry, or resentful, but instead he just gazed at her with the same sadness he had worn back when facing the Evenstar.

"You know," he said gently, as if he were about to tell a self-deprecating joke, "you remind me very much of my daughters."

At that unusual statement, Catelyn looked into his eyes. They were soft once more and trying to tell her something without words.

Green met green.

She took a sharp intake of breath.

 _They are my eyes,_ she thought, realisation finally blooming. _Oh gods, they are my eyes._

For the first time in her life, Catelyn knew she was looking at her father.

The Kingslayer had clearly sensed that she had worked it out, because he got to his feet slowly, the softness in his eyes melting into concern. "Lady Catelyn..."

"Good evening," she said sharply, grabbing Ty's hand and yanking him in the direction of the door. "I wish you good fortune on your travels, ser... wherever they may take you."

And without another word, Catelyn fled the inn, determined never to look back into the eye of the storm, as she did not want to see the horrors that resided there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, I love comments and kudos (even if I am a little slow at answering them), so please consider leaving them!


	6. Shadows in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn reels from the secrets that have just been revealed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! Thanks for reading once again. This one is a little short, but I hope you enjoy!

As they left the inn, Catelyn felt chilled to the bone. _You remind me very much of my daughters_ , he had said, his eyes wide, soft, and almost searching for validation. It seemed barely possible that someone like him could have spoken so tenderly to her about a subject so close to her heart.

 _No,_ she told herself. _It cannot be true. I cannot be the Kingslayer's daughter._

They were halfway down the street by the time Ty tugged on Cat's hand, trying to stop her. "Cat, slow down. Why are you running?"

"We have got to get back to Evenfall Hall," she mumbled, quickening her pace. She did not want to be caught out late at night. What had she been thinking coming all the way down here? And just for the Kingslayer's lies?

To match her, Ty picked up his pace. As she continued to threaten to break the boundary between walking and running, he stumbled over his words for a few moments, before finding something placatory. "I am sorry, Cat."

"About what?" she asked, tears coming to her eyes, blurring her vision so she could see nothing but the winding shape of the road leading out into the darkening woods.

"That he didn't tell you."

Cat froze, the hairs on her arms standing on end. Ty lived in a world so innocent that he could not sense the emotion hidden behind the Kingslayer's words, the clues about _daughters_ and _knowing the Evenstar well_ laced through the platitudes and the pleasantries.

"Ty, he _did_ tell me," she said, not able to suppress the well of disappointment surging through her a moment more. Catelyn had been in possession of so many dreams - of singers, of knights, of true love - but now that was gone. All washed away by the truth.

"Did he?" asked Ty, sounding befuddled.

"Yes," replied Catelyn, a tear spilling down her cheek. Not wanting to appear weak, she quickly wiped it away. "He told me that I reminded him of his daughters, and I then looked into his eyes and I saw..."

_Myself._

It took a few more seconds, but the truth suddenly dawned on Ty, and it made his eyes go wide and his mouth drop open in shock. "Are you trying to tell me that... the _Kingslayer_ is your father?"

Catelyn swallowed heavily. It almost hurt to say. "I think so... yes."

At her answer, Ty's expression changed from shock to dismay, as quickly as a storm rolling over the mountains on Tarth and turning the sky black. "But how can that be?" he asked confusedly. "The Kingslayer is evil and your mother is good. _You_ are good. So how does any of this make sense? I do not understand!"

"Neither do I, Ty," Catelyn replied, blinking so to make more tears fall. Once she wiped them away, Catelyn was able to look up into the woods ahead. Shadows had now fallen across the path that led through the trees and the branches looked like outstretched hands, calling her in. She gave into their clawing pull without complaint.

"Cat, slow down!" cried Ty, once more running to keep up, pulled under the arboreal canopy alongside Catelyn.

"I will not!" Catelyn thundered as they descended into the woods, disappearing under the shadows cast by the trees. They were in unclaimed territory now. "I have to talk to my mother. I do not care if she is too tired, or that she feels ill, or that she does not wish to talk to me about this subject, because there is now a very real possibility that my father is the _Kingslayer_ and she's kept this secret from me all my life!"

Sensing that she was getting agitated, Ty grasped her arm, trying to console her. "Your mother is ill. It might not be best..."

"I do not care!" snapped Catelyn, her voice loud. "For years I have tried politeness and I have got nowhere. It is time she be honest with me! It is time she told the truth!"

But what was the truth? And did Catelyn really want to hear it? For the whole of her life, Catelyn had been trying to make a mental sketch of her father, someone not only reflective of who she was but of what she thought her mother would like. Brienne of Tarth had blushed as red as a rose when Ser Brandon Morrigen had named her Queen of Love and Beauty at a tourney and so Catelyn had imagined her father to be a little like him; knightly, valiant, beautiful. Her mother would have liked someone kind, someone uncomplicated, someone for whom the light and dark were forever separated and who never crossed that line. The Evenstar belonged in the sky, so could only love someone also situated in the cosmos, shining brightly as a star. A hero to her heroine.

Yet the Kingslayer thought he was her father.

 _How could that be?_ wondered Catelyn.

He was everything Brienne of Tarth hated; ambitious, greedy, hateful, scheming, murderous, wrath, uncaring. He had slept with his sister and fathered three bastards, one of whom was a twisted monster who was poisoned at his own wedding. _My brother,_ thought Catelyn with mounting horror, until Ty snapped her out of it.

"You cannot get angry with her," insisted Ty, getting a little breathless at the fact he still had to jog behind her. "She's sick, she's..."

"I do not care!" shouted Catelyn, her anger growing by the minute. "If she has kept something like this from me... I need to know why! I need to understand!"

"Maybe she loved him and she's embarrassed," suggested Ty, his voice meek.

Catelyn outright scoffed at that suggestion. "Loved _him_? The Kingslayer? Don't be ridiculous! How could my mother, the _virtuous_ Brienne of Tarth, ever love someone so perverse and base as the Kingslayer?"

In all her years, beyond all things Catelyn had hoped that her mother loved her father and he reciprocated with abandon. Torn apart by tragic circumstances, Catelyn could paint them a romance and herself born in love. Not a secret. Not surrounded by shame. _Born in love._ And yet if the Kingslayer was her father, Catelyn could see no other option than him ruthlessly taking what he wanted from her mother in heat after the battle, leaving Catelyn herself little more than a squirt of semen and a valley of tears.

_Although he claims he knighted her..._

The Evenstar had never told her daughter exactly how she became the first female knight in Westeros, only that it happened during the Long Night. That, along with most of her mother's past, had always been shrouded in secrecy. As a child, Catelyn had thought her mother's unwillingness to speak about the woman she used to be was caused by the fact she was busy; running Tarth, managing a household, raising a gaggle of squires. Yet the more she thought about it, the more Catelyn came to the conclusion that the reason for her mother's silence was due to something dark and sinister buried in the lost years, inscribed on the pages of a book her mother feared opening lest she be overwhelmed.

It all led back to one name.

Kingslayer.

"I don't know, Cat," said Ty sadly, "I don't know, I..."

"Well, well, well, what do we have here then?" came a voice, course and rough and of the woods.

Spinning around, Catelyn was faced with two men - tall, bullish, with their hoods pulled up - walking towards her and Ty, their teeth and eyes glinting in the moonlight. In an instant, Catelyn's heart started beating rapidly in her chest.

 _Ty told me there were outlaws in the woods,_ she thought, _and I didn't believe him._

"Good evening sers," said Catelyn, pulling Ty close while making sure she was standing up to her full height. "We are just travellers on our way to Evenfall Hall. We have a meeting with the Evenstar in the morning, and it is best we not be late."

Turning around sharply, Catelyn's stomach fell when she saw a further three men had come at them from the other side while they had been distracted by the first two ruffians. Feeling Ty trembling beside her, Catelyn gently moved her free hand to the dagger in the folds of her clothes. If she had to kill a man for Ty, she would do it, no questions asked.

The man in the centre was tall and bulky, and with breath so noxious it could knock someone out. "I don't think you are a traveller, m'lady. I think what we have here is a little star and a little pod. Tasty pickings for Tam, don't you think boys?'

As the gang of thugs cheered, Catelyn heard Ty let out a little moan of fear by her side. Hadn't he told her the reason they could not come out in the woods at night was because Tam Stoker the outlaw lived there, ready to cut of body parts of those he was holding for ransom? Not wanting Ty to see her scared, Catelyn put on the familiar bravado that had always protected her so well.

"Excuse me, good sers, but if you don't mind, we will be going..."

"Oh no you won't," growled the one with little piggy eyes. "Your Ma is the richest bitch on this island. If she won't pay for her only daughter who will she cough up for?"

At his confidence, Catelyn let out a derisive, superior laugh as Ty continued to tremble beside her. "My mother will come and cut off your heads before she pays you any gold."

"Oh, I would like to see her try!"

And then all hell broke loose. One of the thugs behind Catelyn made a lunge for her hair, pulling her head back sharply so she could see his great ugly face bearing down upon her. In the darkness, his blunted teeth looked like fangs. Ty let out a scream as one of the other villains went for him, lifting him up so the poor boys only line of defence was to try and bit down on his attackers hand. Even so, the monster in the woods could easily take a little boy, and one of the other thugs pulled out a gag ready to silence Catelyn's only ally.

"GET OFF HIM!" screamed Catelyn as she reached into her cloak for her dagger, pulling it out and thrusting it into the arm of the second man who came for her. However, as he quickly flinched away from her, crying with pain, she did not react quickly enough for her to retrieve her only weapon when he retreated.

"You bitch!" hissed the cut man, pulling the dagger out of his skin and waving it at her. "You whore!"

 _Words are wind,_ she told herself as she made her last attempt at freedom.

"HELP!!!" Catelyn yelled at the top of her voice, hoping other travellers or people from Evenfall Town were close enough to hear her plight. "HELP!!!"

"Shut the bitch up!" cried the man with the noxious breath as he lifted Ty up, holding him close and clamping a dirty hand across his mouth, preventing him from breathing until her only friend started to go limp in his arms. In her terror, all Catelyn could see was Ty's eyes dying and weakening in the pale light.

"LET GO OF HIM! HELP!!!"

"I said shut the bitch up, Tom!"

"HELLLPP!"

And then there was a crack of a cudgel and it all went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, thanks so much for reading. I would love to hear what you think in a comment or via kudos <3


	7. Her Father's Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn and Ty spend time in the outlaw camp...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been a little while. This chapter was a tough one to write! I hope you enjoy.
> 
> There is mention or rape and a little bit of violence in this one. Please be warned.

Darkness. Catelyn blinked.

More darkness. She then felt a jolt.

 _I'm on a horse,_ she thought. _I'm slung over the back of a horse like an old coat or a sack of grain._

She wiggled, trying to bring some feeling back into her body.

_And my hands and feet are tied... and I think I'm blindfolded._

"Ty?" she called hesitantly. "Ty? Are you there?"

"Shut up bitch!"

Something hard slammed against the back of her head. It all disappeared.

* * *

"Cat... please. Are you awake? You've got to wake up! I can't do this on my own."

She opened her eyes and then closed them again almost instantly. There was a large fire in the centre of the clearing glowing orange and bright, being tended to by two men. Although it was warming, as she had been reduced to darkness for so long, it was too much for Catelyn sensitive eyes. When she opened them again, Catelyn did not look directly at it but at the sky, which was now streaked with the early signs of dawn. Feeling a throbbing, dull ache in the back of her head, she turned to the left and laid eyes on Ty. Like her, he too had his hands and feet bound. Catelyn had never seen him so terrified in all her life.

"Thank the gods," he gasped when she finally met his gaze. "Thank the gods!"

"Wha--what happened?" asked Catelyn; groggy and unfocused and unable to work out what exactly was going on.

"We were captured by outlaws," babbled Ty, his fear overcoming him. "They took us here. I think this is Tam Stoker's camp, I think..."

"Be quiet!" came a ferocious voice from one of the thugs sat nearby. "Did I tell you that you could talk?"

Withering, Ty shut his mouth at once. Not liking that these awful men were able to easily upset Ty, Catelyn edged closer to her friend, hoping her nearness would help calm him down. To Catelyn's immense relief, it seemed to, as over the next few minutes Ty stopped shaking and just leaned into her, his body stilling but remaining tense.

 _I have to save Ty,_ she told herself. _It is my fault we were even out last night. I have to save Ty._

Neither her nor Ty spoke a word for the next hour - hemmed in by fear and regret - so Catelyn used the opportunity to scout out the area with her eyes. They were obviously being held in some small clearing in the mountains located at the centre of Tarth. She had heard talk about outlaws hiding in the woods, especially since her mother became ill, as it was harder for a physically incapacitated Evenstar to keep a grip on the island. However, Catelyn had never quite appreciated how true that was, because the whole outlaw camp seemed to consist of a good thirty men, all armed to the teeth and possessing a venomous gleam in their eyes. If her mother was well, law and order on Tarth would have never have sunk so low.

At the centre of the camp stood a tent with the flap drawn closed. Catelyn watched as several men kept going in and out, taking in wine, food, and clean clothes. Keeping her voice low, Catelyn leant over to Ty. "Who do you think is in there?"

"Tam Stoker," he replied quietly, "this is his camp. I heard that man with the scar on his cheek say so."

Catelyn's blood went cold at the remembrance. Her mind was cast back to the previous night when Ty had first mentioned outlaws in the woods. According to him, Tam Stoker enjoyed cutting off the body parts of people he captured. Catelyn hoped beyond all things that Ty's belief was untrue.

"We've got to find a way to escape," she whispered. "We've _got_ to."

Deciding their best line of self-defence was to keep silent, Catelyn firmly shut her mouth and began to imagine possible escape routes. Thinking about it, Catelyn knew had been quite stupid to leave Evenfall Hall in the middle of the night without telling anyone. It meant the only person who had any clue where they might be was the Kingslayer, and he was about to get on a ship and sail far away, never to be seen again.

 _My father,_ she thought, before pushing that horrible idea away. She had bigger things to worry about.

The next few hours continued much the same, with Ty occasionally whispering to her, but mostly the two them remained silent, trying to work out the best way to escape. Catelyn was halfway through working out a plan to trick one particularly dopey looking thug into handing over his eating knife when the flap of the tent was pulled open. Inside was much larger than Catelyn was expecting, with a bed and furs, as well as a table and chair facing out into the camp. It looked like a little throne room.

And the king himself was also there. Tam Stoker was taller than his legend suggested, but much leaner, with a neatly trimmed brown beard, long chestnut hair, and dancing blue eyes that seemed especially bright. He was the kind of man that, in her sillier flights of fancy, Meg would have called handsome. Dressed in light breeches, a cambric shirt, and sturdy leather boots, Tam walked forward like one of the dancing masters the Evenstar had brought to Tarth to teach Catelyn the volta. He was wearing an easy, but cold, smile on his face as he clicked his fingers, causing several of his men to scramble to their feet from their position around the fire. "Bring me the boy," he said carefully, "I'll sever an ear to prove we have him to his father."

Catelyn snapped her head around to look at Ty, who was already being pulled to his feet by some nearby thugs and dragged in the direction of the awful bandit leader. "Cat!" Ty called, his voice breaking into a sob. "Help! Please! Please don't hurt me! Please! Please!"

Catelyn herself, still light-headed and groggy, was momentarily lost for words as Ty was shoved towards Tam. Once there, the two men holding him, forced him down onto his knees, while Tam pulled a blunt looking eating knife out of his belt. "Now this is going to hurt, my dear boy," smirked Tam, the corners of his lips turning up in a cruel smile, "but it will provide us all with an entertaining show."

At that cutting final line, Tam raised his knife, causing his men to start laughing and Ty's crying and begging to up in intensity. It was too much for Catelyn to bear and even though she did not know what she was doing, she found herself shouting out something so preposterous that the greedy outlaw was bound to listen.

"GOLD!"

Tam froze, his knife inches from Ty's face, before he turned to look at Catelyn. "What?"

"You can't hurt Ty," insisted Catelyn, her words running ahead of herself and sense. "His father would come and hunt you down rather than give you what you want if you so much as harm one hair on Ty's head. If you leave him untouched, untouched and safe, you could get all the gold you want, because Ser Podrick Payne is their heir to a huge fortune in the Westerlands."

Tam's eyes narrowed greedily. "Is he?" he asked, the thugs loosening their grip on Ty ever so slightly.

"Yes," promised Catelyn, her chest growing tight at the weight of her lie. "The family's ancestral seat sits on top of a huge gold mine. If you played your cards right, you could get thousands of dragons out of this. Instead of pretending to be dumb, illiterate peasants, why don't you just let him go and be what you really are; gentleman who can make an _agreement_ with Ser Podrick Payne, a hero of the Long Night?"

A few of Tam's men started chuckling darkly on Catelyn's response, but they quieted the instant the outlaw leader put his knife back in his belt and waved a dismissive hand at Ty. "Take him back to his place. Bring me _her_ instead."

Even as the thugs escorted Ty back to his former position, Cat's friend's face was still frozen in fear, terrified for Catelyn as much as for himself. Clearing her throat, Catelyn tried to appear calm. "Me? Why do you want me?"

"You can help me write a letter to Ser Podrick," said Tam quietly, his voice like silk. "I do not want to behave like an _illiterate peasant_ after all. Pyg, bring her here!"

Before she had time to even voice her displeasure, an ugly brute of a man lifted himself up from the log he was sitting on beside the fire and came bounding towards her. With a grunt, he pulled her to her feet, his fingers digging into her shoulders. Through the strength of his grip, Catelyn knew there was little point in trying to run away, so she let him walk her over to where Tam sat in his pokey tent, her head held high as she did so.

 _I will not let them see me scared,_ she told herself.

Pyg marched her forward and shoved her into the seat next to Tam, who looked at her with dark eyes. "Welcome to my table, m'lady. Could I tempt you with a glass of wine?"

"No thank you," she said coolly, as Pyg began to undo the knots that bound her hands with clumsy fingers.

Tam smirked at her. "Very well, m'lady. Perhaps we can just _talk_ then."

With her hands free, Catelyn felt as if she had grasped onto a tiny shred of power that had been lost to her ever since she let those ruffians capture her in the woods. Balling her fist in her lap, she tried to think of the best thing to do with this new sliver of hope. "Alright," she said stiffly. "We can talk. What do you want to talk about?"

"You," Tam said, leaning ever so slightly closer, his breath tickling her face. Suddenly, Catelyn's mind conjured up a picture of Meg, her friend, who had taught her how to kiss so one day she could give men pleasure. Feeling quite sick, Catelyn thought there would be no option to _give_ with a man like Tam Stoker. It would be about taking and hurting. If Catelyn knew anything, it was that she had to play her limited cards right.

 _No running,_ she told herself. _I have got to think about Ty. We must hold out for rescue._

"What do you want to know about me, ser?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. At her question, Tam let out a little laugh - halfway between genuinely amused and taunting - before he got to his feet. As he did so, Catelyn caught a glimpse of the sharpened shortsword hanging from his belt. She wondered whether he knew how to use it.

"Many things," said Tam, walking behind her and placing one hand on her shoulder. It was heavy and there was a hidden strength in his slender fingers, which Catelyn felt when he lifted his other hand and began to stroke her cheek. She tried not to flinch, but it was difficult given the wave of nausea and terror overtaking her. "I want to know how someone as beautiful as you has a mother that looks like Brienne of fucking Tarth."

His lackeys let out a burst of raucous laughter at that, with only Ty remaining silent, his eyes wide and terrified. If it had only been her in the camp, Catelyn would have been tempted to try and steal Tam's shortsword and run him through with it, or at the very least bite his hand, but instead, Catelyn decided to remain calm. "The Evenstar has many fine virtues," replied Catelyn tightly.

"To be sure," said Tam, his tone almost coaxing, "but one of them is not beauty. You must take after your father."

The Kingslayer's face came to Catelyn's mind's eye. He was old now, but it was still possible to trace some of his lost charms in his features. His beauty had once been legendary after all. Even so, she did not want to admit to that creature being her father. It would be tantamount to admitting her mother was raped, which now seemed like the only possibility considering everything she knew.

"I would not know," Catelyn said mildly. "I have never known my father."

Tam dropped his hands to her shoulders and started massaging her gently. It made Catelyn's skin crawl. "What? No idea at all? You mean there is not some great lordling who had a love affair with your mother during the Long Night? Not a Hightower, or a Manderly, or some other distinguished person sitting on a huge fortune?" Once, the Kingslayer had been the heir to the most important family in Westeros. Tywin Lannister would have bequeathed him a mountain of gold. Yet he had given it all up for his twisted lust of his sister, and then had murdered his king to crown his infamy.

 _No,_ thought Catelyn. _I will never admit to that man being my father._

"No. I do not know."

"So it is just your mother, then?" asked Tam. "Sitting back in Evenfall Hall with her income from the marble mines and her rowdy peasants refusing to pay taxes. Is she the only one waiting for you?"

Catelyn nodded stiffly. "Yes. She is my only family."

Tam leant down so his face hovered next to hers, his beard tickling her face. "Well then, it is best we write to Ser Podrick then." Tam withdrew and clicked his fingers. "Flint, bring me some paper and quill. Lady Catelyn has a letter to compose."

A man to Catelyn's right shuffled off to follow Tam's orders, while the outlaw king himself withdrew slightly back into the tent. Catelyn kept looking resolutely forward, fearing that if she looked at him he would construe it as an invite for him to touch her more. After a few moments, Flint returned with quill, parchment, ink, and pen, and once more Catelyn heard Tam's voice. "Pick up the pen, m'lady. I want you to write exactly what I say."

Her throat in her mouth, Catelyn suddenly imagined a brazen and outrageous plan. Hoping and praying that all thirty men present in the camp were illiterate thugs, Catelyn decided to put it into action, even as her heart beat wildly. "Yes, ser," she said politely, picking up the pen and dipping it in the ink. "What do you wish for me to write?"

"Dear Ser Podrick," began Tam, the shuffle of his feat indicating he was pacing backwards and forwards behind her.

 _Dear Mother and Podrick,_ Catelyn wrote, biting her bottom lip as she did so.

"My name is Tam Stoker, King of the Outlaws, and I have your daughter and your son."

_Tam Stoker the bandit has captured me and Ty and is holding us captive in a clearing in the mountains._

"We have been told that you are the heir to a great fortune in the Westerlands and trust you will agreed to our demands to guarantee the safety of your children."

 _I am not sure exactly where we are, but we are within a few hours on horseback from Evenfall Town. I can also hear a river or stream nearby._

"We want one thousand gold dragons, five hundred for the boy and five hundred for the girl."

_From the position of the sun, I believe we are north of Evenfall Hall._

"And free range of the forests in the northern hills, free of restrictions on poaching."

_We are both unhurt for now, but Ty is very scared and wants to come home._

"We are attaching a small token to demonstrate we are telling the truth."

_I am sorry. This is all my fault._

"Yours sincerely, Tam."

Finishing the letter, Catelyn signed her own name as Cat, before lifting her eyes from the page. "What is this small token...?"

"CAT!"

Looking up towards the sound of Ty's shouting, Catelyn just caught sight of his horror-stricken expression at the same time as she noticed the flash of silver. Momentarily lost, it took Catelyn a few seconds to realise what it was. She screamed when she did, because Tam had lifted his shortsword and severed her right hand from her wrist in a quick cleave of flesh and bone, spilling a wave of blood across the table. Ty had told her Tam Stoker took the body parts of his captives to ask for ransom.

She had thought it a silly story, when in fact it was nothing more than the horrible, terrible truth.

Her howl of pain sent a flock of birds ricocheting into the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you saw me commenting on tumblr about thinking of an evil plot twist, this is it. Please let me know what you think in a comment or through kudos! I love both <3


	8. Severance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn has to deal with the loss of her hand...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I know I said I would get Zombie Horror Hordes to you first, but then I remembered it was really hard to finish comedy, and this chapter just flew out! I hope you like this.
> 
> Just FYI, there is mention of canon typical rape and sexual assault in this chapter. You have been warned!

Tam Stoker was clearly used to dealing with hostages he had altered into mangled ruins of what they had once been, as the moment Catelyn's severed hand had been wrapped up and given to a group of thugs to take to Evenfall Hall with demands, he had set the camp doctor to work. While Catelyn screamed and cried, the beady-eyed man known only as "The Barber" cauterised her wound and then bandaged it tightly, all the while telling her this pain was necessary if she wanted to live. Eventually, it got too much, and Catelyn passed out. It was partly to avoid the agony coursing under her skin, partly to remove herself from the world that had suddenly become darker and less full of light than she once thought it was.

When she woke up, Catelyn found herself tied to a tree, her bandaged hand - or should she say _stump_ \- tied tightly in a sling against her chest. It hurt like hell. Ty was bound to another tree directly opposite her, and Catelyn was horrified to see that his face had turned purple and swollen. It was clear he had been beaten.

"Cat," he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear, "are you awake?"

To her surprise, the pain was less than she was expecting, but she did not feel all with it. She was slightly fuzzy headed and the colours in the clearing - which were otherwise drab and uninteresting - seemed a little too bright to be completely natural.

"Just about," she mumbled, blinking in an attempt to make herself more focussed. "Are you alright Ty?"

"Yes, I am fine, just a bit bruised..."

"Quiet!" came a voice from over by the fire. It seemed every member of the bandit camp was now crowded around the fire, being served big bowls of pottage by a burly looking cook with a ladle. Knowing there was no hope of getting any for Ty, Catelyn turned back to her friend, and lowered her voice even further.

"How long have we been here?"

He tried to shrug, but it was difficult considering he was tied to a tree. "I think it has been two days since you..." His words trailed off.

"Since I lost my hand?"

"Yes."

That brutal reality pushed the two of them back into an uneasy silence once more. Catelyn had once thought she had a bright future; as the heiress to not an insubstantial estate, it was likely that she would have the pick of husbands, especially considering she had a reputation for being surprisingly beautiful. Yet, now? Without a hand? What hope did she have of being the lady everyone expected her to be? She would be ugly, maimed, and no one truly cared for what lay inside a lady's heart. It was all about external beauty.

"Tam sent a message to your mother before you fainted," Ty whispered. "I do not think they've received a response."

 _They will not receive a response,_ thought Catelyn blankly. _Unless it is a bolt through the neck in revenge. At least my mother could save Ty._

_It is a shame she is too late for me._

Still, Catelyn tried to keep Ty's hopes up. "We can only wait. Wait and hope."

Trying to keep Ty's spirits up, Catelyn waited a few more hours, tortured by the pain in her hand and the smell of the pottage, mostly ignored by the thugs. That was until Tam himself made a reappearance, a handsome smile on his face. Although the outlaw was one of life's natural beauties, to Catelyn, his cold grin appeared grotesque.

"Ah, my lady," Tam smirked as he approached Catelyn. Trying to keep her composure, Catelyn attempted to lift her head, even though it pushed her stump against the ropes that bound her. Tam's cutting grin only grew bigger than that. "It seems so unjust that a fair lady such as you should have to sleep out here in the rain, especially considering I have a comfortable tent we could share."

Fearing where this was going, Catelyn stiffened slightly. "I am perfectly fine out here, thank you, ser. I enjoy nature."

The men laughed, but there was no true humour in it. It was cruel.

"But I _insist,_ my lady," replied Tam, his voice almost saccharine as he knelt down beside her, his hand jumping to her face. Catelyn had to suppress a revolted shiver. "And, anyway, you won't need your hands for what I'll have you doing."

The laughing grew louder, which only made Catelyn angry.

"But ser," she growled ferociously. "You must remember I still have my teeth, and I am not afraid to bite."

The punch that cracked across her mouth was not unexpected, but it still hurt all the same. Luckily, Tam only used a bare fist not a mailed glove, so Catelyn kept her teeth. Wanting to avoid appearing scared or hurt, she lifted her head the second the momentum from the punch had ended and looked her aggressor straight in her eye. To her immense gratification, Catelyn saw a flash of fury in his expression, which he masked as quickly as it had arrived.

"Fine," he replied, his voice silky soft. "I'll take the boy then, even though he's not my type."

At Tam's response, the laughter turned into a revolt of cackling hyenas, as Ty turned to Cat, his eyes desperate and confused. Even though she was in pain, bleeding, and broken, Cat knew she wanted nothing more than to save Ty. It was her fault he was even here, and given that her life was likely over anyway, it did not make sense to sacrifice him too.

"I have changed my mind!" cried Catelyn, trying not to show the nausea that was sweeping through her in her words. "This evening, I would be _delighted_ to sleep in the tent with you."

She hoped her lie did not sound poisonous.

"Good," replied Tam, his voice once more courtly in a way that seemed totally at odds with what he was saying. "I do enjoy making highborn ladies whores."

As Catelyn stomach roiled with revulsion, Tam stood up to his full height and returned to the campfire, eliciting around of guffawing cheers from the mindless thugs he hired. Barely able to look at Ty, Catelyn only realised there were tears in her eyes when he started sniffing.

"Cat, you cannot! Your reputation is more important than mine..."

"I am missing a hand," spat Catelyn in response, a little more venomously than she was intending. "If I haven't been taken by blood loss yet, the infection is going to come for me soon, so it is important that we make sure _you_ are able to get out of here. I am a lost cause."

"But Cat..." began Ty, raising his voice. Luckily, Tam and his thugs were now to wrapped up in making obscene jokes and sharing round a wineskin to notice their captives talking. "You cannot do this. You cannot..."

"I can and I will, if it means saving you..." replied Cat indignantly.

"Psst!"

"I won't let you!"

"Psst!"

"You will, because you do not have any choice in that matter."

"Psst!"

"You've got to have faith..."

"Seven hells, will you two listen to me?"

Turning her head towards the sudden interruption, Catelyn realised that there was a voice coming from behind a tree that stood several feet away from the edge of the clearing. Squinting, Catelyn could just make out a tall man holding a sword. It took him stepping forward by an inch or so into a small patch of light for her to see who it was.

The Kingslayer.

"What are you doing here?" gasped Ty, his voice a little too loud.

"Coming to save you," replied the Kingslayer, hushed. "Pod and I have been hunting for Tam's camp for days, ever since your mother was delivered that little _present_ at Evenfall Hall."

Knowing that the Kingslayer must be talking about her hand, Catelyn found herself flinching as the memory raced to the surface of her mind. The blood. The pain. The shock. "Take Ty," she insisted, "I am not much use..."

"Be quiet," ordered the Kingslayer, clearly having no time for her objections. "Lady Catelyn, what you are going to do is ask to relieve yourself and insist Ty comes with you to protect your modesty. When one of those pigs leads you into the woods, I will be ready to gut them, while Pod and Evenstar's guard will take out the rest of the brutes. Do you understand me?"

She _did_ understand, but Catelyn felt there was little point in rescuing her, so went to say so. "Just take Ty, make sure Ty is safe..."

"I _will_ make sure Ty is safe, but I am not leaving you either," declared the Kingslayer, his voice growing louder with the fervour of his commitment. "On a knight's honour."

 _A knight's honour,_ mused Catelyn. Usually, she would find it easy to trust in a knight's honour - she had grown up in the shadow of Brienne of Tarth, after all - but, unfortunately, at this moment, the Kingslayer was all she had. How could she trust the honour of a man who had killed his king and betrayed everything for the love of his sister? She did not know, but perhaps she could trust him as her father. Surely the man who had sired her would have enough regard for his daughter not to see her doomed?

Nevertheless, it was not Catelyn who put the plan into action, but Ty. "Ser Tam!" he called over to the raucous crowd by the fire, determined to grab their attention. "Lady Catelyn needs to relieve herself and wishes me to accompany her to protect her modesty."

That statement caused more laughter, even as Tam got to his feet, a curious look on his face. "Quiet," he commanded, as his thugs silenced themselves at once. "Young Ty has a point. I don't want the goods spoiled before I cut a slice. Pyg, Tom, take the two of them into the woods at once and let her piss. But no touching. I will be angry if you touch."

Giving each other uneasy looks, Pyg and Tom got up from their places around the fire and walked over to the captives. As Tam continued to make unfunny jokes to his men - which of course caused a waterfall of fake laughter - Pyg and Tom untied Catelyn and Ty.

"Move," grunted Pyg once Catelyn was free, marching her into the woods without a care for her bandaged arm or the pain he was causing her by digging his hand into her shoulder. Tom followed with Ty a few steps behind, keeping one hand on his belt. All Catelyn could do was hope and pray that the Kingslayer was following them and was prepared for a fight.

"Here will do," grunted Pyg, pushing Catelyn towards a tree. "Get on with it, girl."

Pretending to be a little shy, Catelyn moved towards the tree as slowly as she could and played with her skirts in an effort to waste time. "Ty, would you help me with my dress?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as sweet and innocent as possible. "I am finding it quite difficult..." Giving her a polite nod, Ty stepped forward and, shielding her from Pyg and Tom's view with his body, he held onto the edge of her skirt and lifted it ever so slightly, allowing Catelyn to start to squat down.

Then all seven hells broke loose.

Slipping out of the trees as silently as a ghost, Jaime Lannister appeared, sword in hand. Before either Pyg or Tom had time to notice, he had slipped the blade through the latter's throat, cutting off his scream before it was even sounded. When he withdrew the sword, the steel slick with blood, Pyg turned to face him, grasping at his belt to reach for his own weapon. However, the Kingslayer did not wait a moment, and rammed his blade through the outlaw's chest, not only preventing him from fighting back, but also from raising the alarm. As Catelyn watched, horrified, at the way in which the Kingslayer butchered their captors, she could not help but wonder whether it had been that easy when he slayed the Mad King. However, she did not have the time to ask, as the Kingslayer lifted his fingers to his lips, launching a calling whistle into the air. The moment he did so, there was a cry from what sounded like a hundred men.

"For Tarth!" came a shout, clean and crisp as it broke through the air.

 _My mother's men,_ thought Catelyn in relief. _My mother's men have come to save us._

Given the distinctiveness of the shout, Catelyn thought that it would be evidently clear what had just happened, but Ty needed clarification. "What is happening?" asked Ty, panicking, scared by the noise seemingly coming from the camp they had just left. He did not look up at either Catelyn or the Kingslayer, as he was too engrossed by the sight of the two dead bandits oozing blood at his feet.

Noting his expression, Catelyn wanted to comfort Ty, but to her surprise, the Kingslayer got there first. Leaning down so he was at Ty's level, the Kingslayer spoke to him in a calm and reassuring voice. "Your father and the Evenstar's guard are clearing that den of villains. Meanwhile, we are going to get back to Evenfall Hall. Can you be brave for me?"

"Alright," replied Ty, the tremor in his voice betraying the fact he was not fully convinced. "We can be brave, can't we, Cat?"

Catelyn did not have an answer for him. She did not see the point of being brave, especially as she had so little to live for. Nevertheless, she let the Kingslayer lead her and Ty through the trees, the sound of the battle in the camp growing quieter and quieter with every step. Eventually, the three of them reached a small copse where there stood two horses tied to a tree. The first was a proud black stallion with dancing eyes and the second a small tan palfrey. Rescue came in animal form.

"Ty, you can ride the palfrey, can't you?" said the Kingslayer, untying the black horse with one hand.

"Yes," replied Ty quickly, making to do the same with the tan horse. "Of course I can, ser."

The Kingslayer nodded, as if he were a commander talking to a soldier. "Good. We will be back to Evenfall Hall in no time."

Perhaps once more buoyed up by the thought of a quest, Ty began to prepare his new steed for their epic ride. He patted it gently in order to make friends, and then lifted himself onto his back, before adjusting himself to the palfrey's unfamiliar shape. The Kingslayer followed immediately with the black horse, and Catelyn could not help but admire the swiftness of his mounting, especially considering he only had one hand.

"Lady Catelyn," the Kingslayer said, his voice at once deferential. "I am sorry, but you will have to ride behind me, and we have no time for side saddle."

When Catelyn did not immediately answer, Ty did so for her. "Cat doesn't know how to ride side saddle; her mother said all ladies should ride properly, just like the men."

At Ty's answer, something approaching softness entered the Kingslayer's expression. It seemed odd considering the dire situation they were in. "It is only right," he muttered, looking in the direction of what Catelyn thought was Evenfall Hall. Then, quite suddenly, he gazed back at her with his all too familiar green eyes. "Come, Lady Catelyn. We must be off."

Keeping one hand on the horse's reigns, the Kingslayer then leant down towards her with his right arm, his stump visible even in the darkness. In spite of the fact she could still hear the battle between Tam's men and the Evenstar's guard close by, the sight of the mottled, horrible scar where the Kingslayer's hand had once been just reminded Catelyn of everything she had lost.

"No," she said resolutely, feeling how much she had lost quite acutely. "I am in too much pain. I will not be pulled up. You go ahead. I will... walk."

If someone sacrificed themselves in a quest, their noble companions normally cried and sang sweet songs. However, in this instance, both Ty and the Kingslayer stared at Catelyn as if she had lost her mind. "But if you stay in the woods all alone, you will die!" declared Ty, his eyes wide.

"Then I'll die," retorted Catelyn sullenly, suddenly wanting nothing more than to sink into the inky blackness lingering in the corner of her vision ever since she had lost her hand. "I have nothing to live for. I have lost my hand, I..."

If Catelyn was expecting sympathy, she did not get it, as at that moment, the Kingslayer just started laughing harshly. Even though it had no genuine amusement in it, Catelyn noticed that it possessed none of Tam's cruelty. "You cannot die," announced the Kingslayer, as if it were a foregone conclusion. "You need to live and take revenge."

"I don't care about revenge," replied Catelyn. Just then, it was nothing but the truth.

To Catelyn's surprise, the Kingslayer let out another scoff of laughter at that declaration. This time, it was almost dismissive. "As your mother once said to me, you _coward."_

Catelyn blinked, unsure of what he meant. When had her mother ever called the Kingslayer a coward? "What? I'm no coward, I..."

The Kingslayer did not give her space to expand on all the brave things she had done and looked down at her with an authoritative glare. It was almost fatherly, in a strange way. "One misfortune and you are giving up, just like me?"

"I am nothing like you," she responded, irritated that he would think so low of her.

"Oh, I think you are," replied the Kingslayer, his eyes seemingly the only light in the darkness. "Do you know what I did after I lost my hand? I told your mother that I wanted to die. And what do you think she said to that?"

Catelyn did not respond immediately, as she was still reeling from the realisation that her mother had been with the Kingslayer when he has lost his hand. "I do not know."

"She accused me of having one taste of the real world, where people have important things taken from them, and whining and crying and quitting. She looked at me with those bloody eyes of hers - all blue, forceful, and full of judgement - and I knew she was right. I _was_ being a coward. I _was_ quitting. So I ate my fucking bread and I stayed alive, because at that moment I wanted to live up to her standards, and I did not want to leave her alone in this world. And that is just what you would be doing if you gave up now."

"I... I... I..."

"What would Ty do without you?" asked the Kingslayer accusingly. "You were all he had in that bloody camp, and if you died now... how could he live with himself for the rest of his days? So do what I did. Eat your metaphorical bread, get on this bloody horse, and _live."_

Catelyn looked up at him and, for a brief moment, she saw all the force of will of her own mother in his green eyes. It chilled her to the bone, because she realised that, due to whatever way they had once known each other, Jaime Lannister still carried a piece of Brienne of Tarth with him wherever he went. Live, the Kingslayer had said, if not for herself then Ty.

Shamed and knowing she did not have another choice, Catelyn held out her left arm and let him pull her up onto the back of his horse with his right. Once she was seated, she wrapped her arms around his waist and was surprised to find he felt as warm and human as anyone else.

"Come on," he said gently, in such a way that Catelyn felt his words rumble in his chest. It was tremendously comforting. "Let's get you home."

No longer wanting to argue, Catelyn held on tight as the Kingslayer kicked his spurs into the horse's side and leading him in the direction of Evenfall Hall. Ty followed on his palfrey, his expression fearful, keeping his eyes on the Kingslayer like a sailor following the north star out of a storm.

Therefore, for a transient moment, Catelyn thought the Kingslayer appeared a knight.

A knight with honour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. As you probably noticed, Jaime quoted the show version of what Brienne said to him after her lost his hand, because this is a Show!Canon story. I would love to hear what you thought in the form of comment or kudos :)


	9. Dreamwine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Catelyn, and Ty return to Evenfall Hall...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. This one was originally joined to the next chapter, but it got too unwieldy. Hopefully that means you will get the next one tomorrow!

When the rescue small party returned to Evenfall Hall, Catelyn nearly cried with relief. She had been so fearful that she would never see her home again, never see her mother again, never escape that horrible depressing camp; that seeing Evenfall Hall again was like jumping into the sea from the cliffs on a hot summer day. For Catelyn, to be riding into the courtyard once more was a blessed relief, even if she was in considerable pain. In spite of her relief, however, the moment the two horses entered the main gates, a pall of fear fell over her. Catelyn had expected that she would be returned to the castle and then immediately whisked away to sleep with the help of milk of the poppy or dreamwine. Instead, she found her mother waiting for her on the steps of the castle, along with Maester Yreme, as if this was an official entrance by a visiting dignitary.

 _Gods,_ thought Catelyn as she saw her mother, looking worse than she remembered. _What do I say to her now the whole world has changed?_

Ty did not seem to possess that same sense of foreboding. Seemingly not caring for reputation or decorum, the second the gates closed behind them, he threw himself off his horse and charged towards the Evenstar, throwing his arms around her waist when he reached her. "I am so sorry!" he cried, the tears coming in an instant. "We did not mean for this to happen."

Even though her mother looked pale, wan, and sicker than ever, Catelyn could not help but notice her attempt to squeeze Ty back and pet his hair. That small intimacy clearly taxed her, probably due to the fact she had been sitting outside on the stone steps for some time. Catelyn was sure such behaviour was not helpful when trying to fight a wasting sickness.

"It is alright, sweetling," said the Evenstar, in a voice she had used with Catelyn when she was a child. "I am just glad you are safe."

As Ty was immensely comforted by those words, the Evenstar looked up, just in time to see the Kingslayer slide off the horse and help Catelyn down after him. There was a strange expression on her face as her eyes flitted backwards and forwards between father and daughter, as if she were staring at a mirror and a reflection, until she finally settled on where Catelyn's hand used to be. On seeing the injury - bloody and infected - her brilliant eyes brimmed with tears, but they only overflowed when Catelyn and the Kingslayer reached her, the latter's arm wrapped around the former's shoulders as he helped her move across the courtyard.

"Oh, Cat," the Evenstar sobbed, letting go of Ty so she could step forward and take a closer look at her daughter's injury. "What have they done to you?"

With a gentleness of touch that could only belong to Brienne of Tarth, Catelyn's mother reached out and felt the newly made stump, as softly as falling rain. It hurt, but it a kind touch, so she did not mind. Seeing the tenderness in her mother's eyes, part of Catelyn became a little girl again, weeping because she fell over in the yard and finding solace at her mother's knee. It was momentarily comforting. However, another part of her - the adult woman - felt she would still have her hand if her mother had not spent the last seventeen years telling lies. The world could not be full of sweet innocence anymore.

"It is quite alright, mother," replied Catelyn, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "My _father_ came and rescued me."

That was only answered with silence. Silence and sadness.

Catelyn had expected her mother to respond in some way to that provocative statement - call her insolent, fall back on old denials, or laugh derisively - but instead she just let her gaze fall on the Kingslayer, filled with endless blue and disappointment in equal measure. He clearly felt the weight of that stare as he battled to peer back at her.

"You had no right to tell her, Jaime," said the Evenstar quietly. For anybody else, her mother's tone may have seemed kind, but Catelyn could sense the steel beneath ready to cut throats. It made Catelyn want to retract her former boldness.

Where Catelyn wilted, however, her father just stared back defiantly. Catelyn had never seen anyone square up to her mother with so much bravery. Yet, Catelyn wondered if one had to be scared to truly possess courage.

"You had no right _not_ to tell her, Brienne."

That accusation hung barbed and poisonous in the air, but neither Catelyn's mother or father made any attempt to move or speak. It seemed they were just content to stare into each other’s eyes, reading a story only intelligible to one another. As she looked from one to the other, Catelyn made an attempt to decode this alien language, but found herself interrupted by Maester Yreme, who held out a supportive arm to her.

"Come, Lady Catelyn," he said soothingly. "Let me take you inside and check you over. I can lessen the pain with dreamwine."

Part of Catelyn wanted to stay with her parents, because she thought that either her mother or the Kingslayer were on the cusp of saying something that would fnally make sense of all this mess, even if their expressions suggested they wanted to kill one another. However, the piece of Catelyn that still had some ambition to survive to her eighteen nameday knew it was best to follow the Maester, who would take her to her room and wipe away all the horrors of the world with a cup of dreamwine. Therefore, after taking Maester Yreme's arm, Catelyn let herself be led away, but continued to watch her mother and father until they were no more than shadows under the moonlight. Perhaps the problem of building a family out of shards of glass would have to wait for another day.

* * *

As she slept, Catelyn dreamt of many things. She walked along the beaches of Tarth - golden and glowing - and there, standing with the tide lapping around her feet, was Meg. Her eyes as bright as stars, Meg kept calling to Catelyn, her voice almost a song. _Save me,_ she begged. _I can have no husband who pleases me well as you._ Longing to swim out to sea to rescue her, Catelyn nevertheless found herself distracted by a sound coming from the woods. It was a low rumble, almost a growl, and she found herself forced to follow it.

"Maester Yreme, is it quite alright if I sit with her?"

After walking for some time, Catelyn came across a lion hiding in a clearing. For a beast, he was handsome, but it was clear that he was growing old and weak; there was grey in his mane, silver on his muzzle, and he was missing a paw. However, there was something inviting in his green eyes, so Catelyn felt no fear in walking beside him and running her hands through his fur.

_Hands._

Even though Catelyn prided herself on knowing Tarth better than anyone bar her mother, in the dark of the trees she felt scared. In the wind, she heard Tam Stoker's laugh. Drawing on the little courage she possessed, Catelyn decided to put her trust in the lion. He did not seem to mind and, walking side by side, the two of them began to journey through the woods, finding shelter in each other's warmth and closeness. At first, Catelyn became a little concerned that the lion did not know where he was going, but then she realised that the sun had just appeared beyond the horizon and that the old feline was longing for the golden light. Following behind, Catelyn let the lion chase the sun, and she floated in his wake.

"Of course, Lady Brienne. I will just wait outside."

As the sun launched higher in the sky, it seemed to bring a strange music with it, sung in a clear bright voice that Catelyn recognised but could not place. "High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts..." At the sound, the lion picked up his pace, a majestic expression in his leonine features. As Catelyn ran beside him, the sun grew brighter, bringing forth a sheen of sweat on her forehead. She wiped it away with her right hand.

"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found, and the ones who loved her the most..." The sun seemed so hot. The lion so close. And Meg was back on the beach.

As the next line sounded, Catelyn buried her hands in the lion's mane, grasping hold for comfort and support as they climbed up the hill towards what she assumed was Evenfall Hall. "And the ones who had been gone for so very long, she couldn't remember their names..."

The lion went faster with every word, so much so that Catelyn had to break into a sprint. At first, she did not understand why, but then she realised that the sun was setting, and shadows were starting to lengthen between the trees. It seemed the green-eyed old lion was determined to capture the golden disc in his mouth before the day ended. Even though she knew nothing of this strange almost-world, Catelyn desired nothing more than to help her companion, so joined him in his race against the dying day.

"They spun her around on the damp, old stones, spun away all her sorrows and pain." With those words, the sun began to sink beyond the horizon, and in his exertion, the old lion started to pant as if he could barely hold himself together. Catelyn could understand why, because it would soon be too late. The lion would not catch the sun, and they would all be plunged into darkness.

An endless midnight.

"And she never wanted to leave..."

The shadows left along with the lion and the sun when Catelyn emerged from her dream, as if launching herself out of freezing water, gasping for air. Pinching her eyes closed, Catelyn tried to hold onto the song, hold onto the memory. After all, she had never heard these concluding lines before. It was the song that had been banned for as long as she remembered, so wished to solve this small mystery. Keeping her eyes closed, Catelyn let the end ring out.

"Never wanted to leave..."

The longer she lay in darkness, viewing the orange-black backs of her eyelids, the more Catelyn found she could latch onto that voice. It was the voice that had sung her lullabies, that had chanted hymns to the Seven, and hummed as she worked over her accounting books. Even under the lingering effects of the dreamwine, Catelyn could tell it was her mother.

"Never wanted to leave... never wanted to leave..."

As she finished the song that had so long been forbidden, the Evenstar's hand lifted to Catelyn's face, her fingers light. Keeping her eyes closed, Catelyn let her mother touch her, stroking her hair out of her face before pressing the back of her palm to her forehead to check for fever. For a moment, Catelyn was a child again, unburdened by the world.

"I am so sorry Cat," her mother mumbled, her words catching on a long buried emotion deep inside her chest. "I am so, _so_ sorry."

There was nothing more in the world that Catelyn wanted to do in that moment than open her eyes and ask what exactly her mother was sorry for. Seventeen years of secrets and lies? A surrendered hand? Or a forbidden song, only sung when Catelyn was lost to dreams and could barely hear it? Catelyn was just about to reveal that she was awake and pursue these questions, when the door swung open and the Evenstar's hand fell away in surprise.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come to see our daughter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you have time, please consider leaving comments or kudos. I love them!


	10. Seventeen Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here is the next chapter which I promised you yesterday. I don't know how long the next one is going to be, but I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Without needing to open her eyes, Catelyn knew who had just entered the room; the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, her _father._ The last time he and her mother had been in the same room as one another, there had been screaming and shouting. Now, there was just a silence so profound that Catelyn could almost feel it pressing into her chest. Even though she had her eyes closed, there was something in the way that the Kingslayer nervously shuffled his feet that made Catelyn believe they were on the precipice of saying something important, so decided to remain impassive. If she opened her eyes, the moment would be shattered forever and she would never discover the secrets of her own past. Consequently, Catelyn stayed still and pretended she was lost to dreamwine. It was easier that way.

Seconds passed before the Evenstar let out a little huff. "You had no right to tell her."

"I didn't tell her," bit back the Kingslayer, razor sharp. "I merely said she looked like my daughters. She's bright. She put it together herself." There was another silence - caused by either disbelief or a running out of words - and it took some time before the Kingslayer found the means to end it. "Perhaps I was in shock... I had just worked it out myself."

Catelyn could almost hear her mother rolling her eyes. "You never thought to put it together before? For an entire month you came inside me every night. Did it never occur to you that you might get me with child?"

 _A whole month?_ thought Catelyn, shocked. Ever since she had learnt the Kingslayer was her father she had been assuming a drunken fumble or, at worst, rape. Yet every night for a month? It seemed crazy. There could never be a more incongruous couple in the world than Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth. Why would a star want to drown herself in darkness?

"I thought you were taking moon tea," the Kingslayer replied curtly. From the careful tone of his voice, Catelyn could tell he was standing up very straight. There was always something difficult to be found in raking over the past, so perhaps facing it with a soldier's posture gave him the courage to press on.

He faced a hard battle, however, as Catelyn's mother snorted at his statement. It was dismissive and bitterly amused, a sound quite alien to anything she thought her mother could make. "Why would I have done that? The war was almost over. I thought you were going to stay. I thought you had _chosen_ me."

"I _had_ chosen you."

"Don't lie," her mother snapped back, her tone laden with hidden emotion. "You chose _her_."

He sighed. To Catelyn, it sounded as if he were expelling all the demons he had locked inside his chest, easing the weight they placed upon him. "I chose our child. Cersei was pregnant..."

"It could have been Euron's child," replied the Evenstar. Catelyn knew her mother well enough to tell she did not truly believe that.

The Kingslayer seemed to sense that too. "She was not Euron's child. She was mine and I could not leave her to die."

The sound of wood scraping on stone told Catelyn that her mother had just got up from her seat, and the soft _put_ sound indicated that she was leaning on her walking stick. Curved backed and sick, Catelyn knew her mother would look weak. Perhaps by proving she could stand up, the Evenstar expected to intimidate the Kingslayer; Catelyn suspected that in the past, Brienne of Tarth found that task fairly easy.

"But you _did_ leave her to die," retorted the Evenstar, quick as a whip. "For that whole month you stayed with me, you did so in the knowledge that if Daenerys Targaryen ever got hold of your precious sister, she would turn her into a smouldering ruin. Cersei _and_ your precious babe. What changed?"

"My belief in the Dragon Queen's capacity for mercy," said the Kingslayer quickly, touching the words only lightly. In times past, Catelyn might have shivered at the mention of the monster who had destroyed King's Landing. Now, however, she did not, as she had met the Kingslayer, and sometimes he seemed more man than beast. "After Cersei had Missandei executed, there was not a hope in Seven Hells that Daenerys would let Cersei live, even if only for a few months for the sake of the child. I had to do something. I had to try to save her."

"And did you succeed?" asked the Evenstar, before quickly rubbing away her question. "No, you must have failed, because you are here all alone."

Brienne of Tarth span something taunting into the air with that response, but it quickly ebbed away when the Kingslayer answered her question. "I didn't fail... at least, not until later."

"What?" the Evenstar asked, her voice strangely soft. "I do not understand."

There was another sigh, before the Kingslayer finally found the courage to undo his heart. Taking a step forward, he pulled it out of his chest and placed it in Brienne of Tarth's hands, releasing a story of a missing seventeen years. "Cersei and I rowed to Pentos... well, when I say we _rowed to Pentos_ I mean we got a mile out to sea before we were picked up by a passing Braavosi junk and _taken_ to Pentos. When we arrived, we had nothing but the clothes on our backs, so we had to sell Cersei's jewellery just to afford bread and a place to live. I had given my golden hand to Tyrion, after all, to use as evidence of my death."

That the Hand of the King had conspired in this secret pained Catelyn almost as much as she knew it was hurting her mother. Every year when Tyrion had stopped in Tarth for his annual trip to Pentos, Catelyn had tried to needle the truth of her father out of him. He had just smiled wistfully and said he did not know. Given everything she was now aware of, it was clear that Tyrion Lannister was capable of great lies.

"I still have it, you know," wheezed Catelyn's mother, "in my chamber."

"You kept it?" he asked, surprised, and Catelyn thought she heard genuine warmth there.

Her mother responded with ice. "You can have it back. I don't need relics now."

"I don't want it back. I am not that man anymore."

"Then who are you?" countered the Evenstar, her questions sharp. "If you are not the man that I have been mourning, who _are_ you?"

Her interrogation was followed by a silence that was only interrupted by the sound of the Kingslayer's footsteps on the stone floor as he moved even closer. "I am... just Jaime. Nothing else. Everything else I ever was is now gone. Brother. Lover. Son. Father. Kingslayer. Lion of Lannister. All gone. When I crossed the Narrow Sea, all I had was Cersei and our child. I thought I could remake myself around those truths..."

"Did you return to her bed?" asked the Evenstar, her voice choked.

There was an uncomfortable pause. "Yes."

"Of course you did," she replied bitterly as Catelyn's own stomach swooped. "I truly was little more than your whore."

If that was a sudden lunge for the Kingslayer's gut with a knife, what he responded with was an expert attempt to parry her. "It was only once and in every moment I thought of you."

Catelyn suddenly felt as if she was pinned to the bed, frozen. She was not sure she wanted to hear of her mother and father bedding - she barely wanted to think of her own marriage to a man, after all - but she forced herself to listen lest this was the only chance she would hear the truth.

"Don't bring me into the bed you shared with her," retorted Catelyn's mother, a hint of disgust in her voice. "Please."

"I could scarce kick you out. I have thought about you every day for seventeen years."

"Stop..."

"I have, every single day," he said, impassioned, his words laden with love. "Every day that Cersei and I stayed in Pentos, waiting for the child to be born, I wondered how you were. I wrote to Tyrion once, to ask how you fared, and he told me you had resigned from the Kingsguard to return to Tarth. I assumed that you wished to fulfil your duties, but now I realise it was because you were with child, and you did not wish to have the whole realm staring."

There was another pause, this one filled with surprise. "Tyrion did not tell you about Catelyn?"

"No," replied the Kingslayer, his voice soft. "When he came to visit us in Pentos, it was all about money; how we were faring, whether we could afford our little manse on the south side of the city. I found work as a sword master, but it did not pay especially well considering my injury. A sword master without a right hand is not deemed to be particularly good, I think."

Catelyn wondered whether her mother was smiling at that, because her next statement contained a hint of warmth. "I bet Tyrion gave you a small fortune straight from King Bran's coffers."

"He did," conceded the Kingslayer stiffly, "but not for me, and not for Cersei, who had drunk herself into a wine-sodden delirium that she was still Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. No, Tyrion gave us money... but it was for Joanna."

Although Catelyn had no idea who Joanna was, she could tell there was meaning and import in the name as the whole room seemed to reverberate with her presence. "Who is Joanna?" asked Catelyn's mother, seemingly believing that if she did not say the name too loudly it would lose its significance.

"Joanna was my daughter," replied the Kingslayer, the word _Joanna_ sounding soft on his tongue. "She was mine and Cersei's daughter, who was born in Pentos in some diseased back alley. Although Cersei wanted to name her after herself, I picked _Joanna_ after our mother. That was my first mistake."

Although Catelyn could not see her mother, she could tell she was furrowing her brow in confusion. "Mistake? What mistake?"

At the question, the Kingslayer let out another sigh, only this one was full of regret. "I thought Joanna had been born to be both my daughter and my redemption. Through her, I would make everything right. I would raise her to be good and noble, a true knight. Like you." The Evenstar scoffed, but the Kingslayer pressed ahead. "Do not laugh at my ambitions, wench. That was what I wanted, to make my daughter in your image... as if she was _ours._ "

"Jaime, do not be so preposterous," began the Evenstar, but the Kingslayer silenced her with the next line of his story.

"However, Cersei had other ideas. She thought Joanna had been born to be a queen."

"Of course she did," said the Evenstar quickly, a hint of jealousy and bitterness in her tone. "She had your child and she saw her as a tool, that is Cersei all over."

Considering the Kingslayer had left the north to return to his sister, Catelyn had expected him to try and defend Cersei Lannister's good name. Instead, he just sighed in agreement. "Yes, it is. I have always known what Cersei was... yet it still came as a surprise when she informed me she was sending our daughter, barely two, to be betrothed to the son of a Dothraki warlord who was in possession of an army that my sister could use to reclaim the Seven Kingdoms."

"Copying from Daenerys Targaryen's playbook, I see," said the Evenstar wryly, as the Kingslayer let out a sad laugh.

"I could not let Cersei do it," he confessed as his laughter died. "I may be many bad things, but I knew Joanna was an innocent who did not deserve to be sold for her mother's ambitions. Therefore, one night, I snuck out our house in Pentos with only Joanna, half a purse of gold, and a small bundle of clothes. I have not seen Cersei since. I do not even know if she still lives."

There was another pause as the Evenstar picked up that story and began to turn it over in her palm, trying to seek out the inconsistencies. "But Tyrion visited Pentos every year," said the Evenstar confusedly. "I would have assumed that it was because he was seeing you."

The Kingslayer shook his head. "Maybe he was looking for Joanna and me - I do not know - but we had gone far away, so if he was searching, he never found us."

The Evenstar stopped for a moment, considering what that meant for her own experience of the last seventeen years, before pressing forward with another question. "Where did you go?"

"Everywhere," the Kingslayer replied, his voice suddenly taking on a dreamy tone in remembrance. "With Joanna strapped to my back, I travelled the known world. From Pentos, I took the road to Norvos, and from there to Qohor. After spending some time in the city, I took a boat down the river to Volantis, and then I followed the Demon Road all the way to Meereen and then onto Qarth itself. Once in Slaver's Bay, I decided that I wanted to see the Shadowlands, so I sailed to Asshai on a Qartheen slave ship. By the time I reached the edge of the map, Joanna was nine, and I knew I had to try and give her something more permanent, especially as I was getting older and I did not know how long I could keep working as a tutor."

"Where did you go next?" Catelyn's mother asked. "Back to Qarth?"

"No, we headed for the Free Cities," the Kingslayer admitted, his voice weighed down with the rest of the untold story, "although we spent some time passing through the islands of the Summer Sea. Greater Moraq. Lesser Moraq. The Isle of Elephants. Marahai is paradise on earth, and the island is famed for its medicinal herbs. One tincture in particular is meant to lengthen the fight against consumption and I brought some with me..."

Catelyn almost sat up at that statement. The Kingslayer had some medicine for consumption, the very disease her mother had? Catelyn was about to leap up with joy, but then the Evenstar asked another question, seemingly not realising what the Kingslayer had just confessed. "Yet you are not in Marahai now. Did you make it back to the Free Cities?"

"Yes," confirmed the Kingslayer. "Joanna was fourteen by the time we made it to Lys, and every bit as beautiful and sweet as Myrcella had been; golden haired, green-eyed, and a voice of an angel. She was clever too and played a mean game of Cyvasse. However, after the journey from the Summer Sea we were short of coin, so I agreed to act as captain of a spice merchant's ship. The sailors thought that having a woman aboard was unlucky, so I found a place for Joanna as a nursemaid working in the service of a Lysene merchant named Jaeherys Leonine, who had a wife and three young daughters. It was the greatest mistake of my life."

At his ominous tone, Catelyn's mother replied gently. "How so?"

"While I spent a year at sea in hell and high waters, it seemed I had entrusted my jewel to a snake. When I returned to Lys, I discovered my Joanna living in a pillow house, heavy with Jaeherys' child. It seems that the Valyrian cad promised her the world in payment for opening her legs, then threw her out when she started to show."

That pause was filled with awkward tension and social shame.

"I am sorry," said Catelyn's mother eventually. For the first time since the Kingslayer had entered the room, the Evenstar's tone was devoid of all mockery. "I know what it is like to be abandoned, pregnant, by the man you love."

Her accusation clearly hung heavy around his neck, as heavy as chains, leaving him abashed and contrite. "Perhaps what happened to Joanna was my punishment, then, for what I did to you."

"What happened to Joanna?" asked the Evenstar, her tone caught halfway between tender and condemning.

"She gave birth to my grandchild in the dirty backrooms of some squalid Lysene pillow house with only me and a whore called Serra to act as midwives. In a flood of blood and afterbirth, she bore a boy with a Valyrian look like his abominable father. You would think there could be some small happiness in that, but Joanna had never been robust, and the shock was too much for her. She lost so much blood that moments after her son was born, she was begging me to raise him in her stead, pleading with me to look after him."

Catelyn knew what that meant, and so did her mother. "Did you keep your promise?"

"No," replied the Kingslayer sadly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I could not play at being Ned Stark, because the boy barely outlived his mother by a day. I did not even give him a name, just as I never gave my horses a name when I was a squire. It is too sad when they die."

"Jaime..."

"Do not pity me, wench," he barked, "I do not deserve it. I expect the boy's death was a punishment for my sins too."

With the conclusion of her father's story, Catelyn wanted to cry. She had heard so many bad things about the Kingslayer over the years that she had often thought he deserved to suffer in all Seven Hells; for the death of Aerys, the killing of Ned Stark's men, the betraying of the Army of the Living. Yet hearing what had happened across the Narrow Sea just made Catelyn sad. It seemed that the penance meted out against him was too much. Surely, the gods were kinder than that? And what about Joanna? She had been an innocent in all this. Did the gods not have any mercy at all in their stone hearts?

"Did you kill him?" asked the Evenstar eventually, as if she expected the answer to be _yes._

"Who?"

"Jaeherys Leonine."

The Kingslayer sounded weary when he next spoke. "No. The bastard had the good sense to die of the bloody flux before I could get hold of him. And... anyway... what good is revenge? It would never have brought Joanna back. I could have never retrieved my pearl from the sea."

As her eyes were squeezed shut, Catelyn could just imagine that, by invoking his daughter's name, the Kingslayer had just invited the spirit of Joanna into the small chamber. Walking between the Kingslayer and the Evenstar, Catelyn imagined that Joanna looked very sad and very beautiful. Perhaps like herself, her sister had never been told the truth about one half of herself. It made Catelyn bitter that she had never known her.

They could have played Cyvasse.

The silence stretched on for a few more moments before Catelyn's mother eventually found the words, her question suddenly soft after the story he had just told her, lest she rouse either his grief or the ghosts. "Why did you come back? After all this time and everything that has happened. Why did you come back?"

Once more, the Kingslayer sighed, and Catelyn could sense that he felt entire weight of the world on his shoulders. "I was grieving... I still _am_ grieving, but a broken man still needs bread, so I continued to work as a ship's captain. I was delivering pepper to Yronwood when I heard; two sellswords were drinking wine and gossiping about Brienne of Tarth in a lonely tavern in the Dornish Hills. One of them said the news was that you were dying of the same consumption I had seen in Marahai, the same plague I knew how to fight. I returned to Lys at once, resigned my position, and stowed away aboard a passing Pentoshi ship that I heard was coming to Westeros. I had to see you, if only because what I learnt in Marahai could give you time... and you deserve time, Brienne. More than anyone."

 _Time_ , Catelyn mused. _It seems to me we have all had so little time._

Thinking she could hear her parents hearts beating in unison, Catelyn was not exactly surprised by what the Kingslayer said next. "There is nothing left for me in this life, Brienne, but to once more pledge my sword to you and say, if you will have me, I would be willing to serve under you once again."

Once more, the conversation was mired by a silence so burdened by years of heartbreak that Catelyn almost expected no human word had the expressive depth to do that time justice. "I am dying, Jaime," said her mother quietly. "I cannot take on somebody crushed by seventeen years of regret. I am not strong enough."

The Kingslayer seemed to consider that statement for a moment, as if it were a sensible point to make, before supplying his answer. "Those seventeen years were not all bad," he said, his voice turning wistful in the face of the Evenstar's doubt. "At least I got to hold her. Of my four children, I got to hold Joanna."

"Five children."

The Kingslayer sighed and it made Catelyn squeeze her eyes closed even tighter, because she could tell he was looking at her. "Five children," he said quietly, his green eyes burning into Catelyn's skin. "I wish I could have known her."

At that admission, there was another silence, but this one stripped the room of all dismissiveness and scoffs and opened up something tremendously vulnerable. Consequently, when Brienne of Tarth next spoke, it felt like she was reciting. "Don't lie on my account. I have had seventeen years to realise the truth. You chose Cersei and her child. Not me or any future I could give you, but _Cersei._ You pushed a boy out a tower window, crippled him for life, for Cersei. You strangled your cousin with your own hands just to get back to Cersei. You would have murdered every man, woman, and child in Riverrun for Cersei." For a moment, Catelyn's mother paused, seemingly weighing up her choice of words. "She was hateful, and so are you."

"Brienne, I..."

When her mother next spoke, Catelyn could hear the tears she desperately trying, but failing, to keep inside. "I never believed it at the time - in fact, I wrote quite the opposite in the White Book - but I do now. You've come back, after seventeen years of letting me believe you were dead, only to say you wish to serve under me and casually reveal the secret I was prepared to die with. _That_ is cruel. _That_ is hateful."

If her mother had been speaking to anyone else, Catelyn would have expected contrition, but instead the Kingslayer fought back with everything he had. "Living a lie is hateful, Brienne, not the truth. Never the truth. Letting Catelyn live under misapprehension would have been wrong. I spent my life being hated for my greatest deed that I had to keep a secret, and then yet more years than I can count calling my own children by another man's name. The only time I ever felt truly free was that day at Harrenhal when I told you my greatest secret, and you did not flinch away. The day I told you, I was _liberated."_

"Is that all I was for you?" countered her mother, her voice now a sob, "a liberation? Someone you could load all the bad onto and hope I would save you from your own sins?"

The Kingslayer let out a growl of frustration, so loud it sounded like a lion. "Of course you weren't. You were what I would have chosen if the world wasn't full of shit. You were what I would have picked if I wasn't Jaime Lannister and you weren't Brienne of fucking Tarth. You were who I would have chosen if I actually had a choice."

"There is always a choice," insisted Catelyn's mother and, on her tongue, that statement sounded like a religious commandment.

"You have always had a great capacity for naivety, Brienne," said the Kingslayer, suddenly sounding hollow. "The worst lies I ever told were to you in that courtyard. I can't take them back, but I can tell you that they hurt me more than I could ever say. Yet I had no choice."

"Yes you _did_ ," replied the Evenstar, crying now. "Yes you _did._ You could have come back into the castle and stayed with me. You could have done the honourable thing and made me your wife, not left me vilified and rejected as your whore. Instead, you broke my heart. Yes, that decision hurt you, I saw it in your eyes, but how much do you think your words hurt me? Seventeen years and they still _cut."_

"You had friends around you," the Kingslayer stammered. "Sansa... Podrick..."

As Catelyn knew her mother treasured her friendships, what came out of the Evenstar's mouth next surprised her daughter so such a degree that she almost opened her eyes. "But what are friends in comparison to you, Jaime?" she exclaimed, her sobs mingling with an urge to shout at every word. "The man who knighted me. The man who saved me from a bear. The man who gave his hand for me. _You._ Did you really know me so little that you thought I would just get over it?"

"You were always so strong..."

"When I love, I love with everything I am," cried Catelyn's mother, her words barely audible over her sadness, "and I loved you so much that you took most of me with you when you went."

"Brienne..."

"I've been a shadow for seventeen years," she confessed, as if talking to the Stranger himself while praying at his altar, "and I finally, _finally_ thought this wasting sickness would allow me to be free of this heartache... perhaps to be with _you_ again... but you couldn't even give me that, could you? Because you are alive, and you never had the courtesy to tell me!"

When the Kingslayer responded, he matched the Evenstar in the emotion stakes. "Tyrion thought it wasn't very wise..."

"Since when has Tyrion been wise?" thundered Brienne, stabbing her cane on the floor, "clever, far too smart for his own good, but never, ever _wise._ Surely you should have trusted your own feelings in this, Jaime, once in those fifteen years you were out of touch with Tyrion? You must have known that I longed to hear from you. You must have known what we were to each other. _"_

"It doesn't have words," he moaned, as if the confession pained him, "I don't have the words to describe it."

"You were my lover, but more than that," the Evenstar supplied, "You were my comrade. You were the man who knighted me. You were my prisoner. You were my equal. You were my saviour. You were my _friend._ For that reason above all others, surely you could have written me one short letter to tell me you lived? One short missive to tell me that my grief was in vain? Friends do not treat each other so cruelly."

There was another scrape of the stone floor as the Kingslayer stepped forward, but Catelyn barely heard it over his impassioned tone. "I meant to treat you cruelly because I could not have you coming after me. If Cersei had known what we were to each other, any death that Daenerys Targaryen could have conjured up for me would have been child's play in comparison to what my sister intended for you. I could not have that happen..."

"That would have been my choice to make," wheezed Catelyn's mother, evidently still furious even in spite of her weakening tone.

"I would not _let_ you make that choice," declared the Kingslayer. "Do you know what Cersei did to the septa who processed beside her during her walk of shame?"

"What?" asked the Evenstar, a hint of tentative fear in her voice.

"She had her raped to death," replied the Kingslayer, his voice strangely devoid of emotion. "I could not have her do that to you, and that is what I suspected would happen if she knew about us."

Even though the eventually the Kingslayer described was sick and perverse, the Evenstar let out a bitter laugh. "And yet you returned to her. _Cersei,_ the evil queen from a story, who had septas raped, who blew up buildings, and had innocent children slaughtered. You returned to her, you slept with her, and you _stayed_ with her. Do not tell me you were trying to save me from some terrible fate, nor protect your child. You were returning to your sister... _your lover."_

"All the Lannister siblings must have a vice," proclaimed the Kingslayer, frustration entering his voice because the Evenstar was not getting the point his tale. "Cersei's was wine, Tyrion's whores, and mine my sister. I knew what she was and, even though I was aware it was poison, I had to go back. Yes, I wanted to save Joanna, but at the same time I thought I deserved the fate of always looking at Cersei, my _reflection_. As I had pushed a boy out of a window for her, as I was _hateful,_ I thought a long, slow death by her venom was the only thing I was due."

"You deserved the world," declared the Evenstar, impassioned, "you just refused to see it."

Now it was the Kingslayer's turn to let out a morose chuckle. "Do you know why I came north all those years ago? I came to Winterfell to keep my oath, yes, but mostly because I dreamt that I could die a knight in a song, loved by a fair maid with a magical sword. If I could not die in your arms, I was planning to die by your side with a sword in my hand, my blood singing. And when that did not happen... I didn't know what to do."

"You could have stayed with me," replied the Evenstar, her voice cracking, "I _asked_ you to stay with me. _Begged_ you to stay with me, even."

"Brienne," he moaned, his tone suddenly imploring. "You know I could not. You were Brienne of Tarth. You were far, _far_ too good for me. Cersei was what I knew. Cersei was what I deserved. I am the Kingslayer, not Galladon of Morne, the Perfect Knight..."

The Evenstar let out a despairing little moan. "I didn't want Galladon of Morne. I wanted _you,_ the man who has shown me his goodness again and again while everyone else was content to despise him."

"You've never seen me properly," insisted the Kingslayer. "You saw what you wanted to see. That was why it was better you thought me dead."

"No it was not!" the Evenstar cried, her voice laced with despair and fury. "For seventeen years you flitted around Essos, apart from Cersei, and you never thought once to let me know you lived because you thought I could not handle the truth of what you are? This is _me_ we are talking about _,_ Jaime. Me. The woman who wiped your arse, nursed your wounds, and heard your sins, yet you still think I don't know you? I know you better than anyone, even better than you do yourself."

"I tried to break your heart," he replied, almost a whimper, "I didn't want you to follow..."

"You succeeded!" sobbed the Evenstar, her tears ripping her words apart and making them almost unintelligible. "You succeeded so thoroughly I have scarce been able to put it back together. First, I thought if I could stay at Winterfell and serve Queen Sansa that I would be able to forget, but around every corner I saw your face and heard your laugh..."

"Brienne..."

In spite of his pleas, the Evenstar continued to speak over him. "Then I thought that if I joined the Kingsguard, I would be able to dedicate myself to a life of chaste servitude, but they put me in a room that used to be yours while I carried your child. It hurt more than I could say. Before long, I knew I could not stay without dishonouring my position... no Kingsguard can have a child, after all. So, I returned to Tarth to be the shame of my father. I thought his disappointment would be enough to knock my love for you out of me, but then the gods gifted me with the sweetest girl in the world. She is the light of my life, but sometimes I can hardly stand to look at her because all I see is _you._ I wanted to surrender my love, cut it out, but I have never been able to, because every time I gaze into Cat's green eyes I am once more back in Winterfell, watching you ride away into the snow. I have _never_ been able to forget you."

At that, the Evenstar's words dissolved completely into tears and the Kingslayer rushed forward, his tone desperate. "It has been the same for me. For seventeen years I have been haunted by what I did, and although I cannot wash away the past, I want to help you. I want to serve you. I want to give you my love in a selfless way, so I can be here with you, _for_ you, but never ask for anything in return. I am versed in cures from Marahai, I know what it is like to lose a hand; I can help you and our daughter both if I stay. If you _let_ me stay. I know I am seventeen years too late, Brienne, but please, _please_ give me that honour."

"Jaime..."

"Brienne..."

Perhaps it was the sounding of their names, or even the evocation of honour, but at that moment Catelyn opened her eyes to discover the most curious sight. The Kingslayer had paced across the room and was now standing in front of Catelyn's mother, his only hand on her face swiping away tears with his thumb, while the Evenstar grasped at his tunic as if she feared he would run away if he did not. Although she was only a young girl, Catelyn could feel the heat. The air seemed to burn.

"You love each other?" asked Catelyn, dazed and confused that _this_ was the truth after seventeen years. The Kingslayer and the Evenstar in love. It seemed so preposterous to Catelyn given their legends but, having heard everything that just came out of their mouths, and now watching them gripping onto each other as if they were life rafts in a storm, there seemed no other possibility. Sometimes, however, the truth was too much to bear even when flung from the mouths of babes. If she had been hoping to get a serious answer to her question, Catelyn was disappointed as, the second they realised she was awake, her mother and father sprang apart, as if they were two naughty teenagers caught kissing in a hayloft. The Evenstar almost dropped her cane as the Kingslayer marched back across the room towards the door, running from Catelyn's mother as quickly as he could.

"I have some medicine from Marahai," he mumbled, tripping over his words as well as his own feet. "I'll give it to Pod. We'll speak... later."

Catelyn wanted her mother to say something, to stop him, but she clearly felt him leaving was the only solution to this problem, so she kept her mouth firmly shut. Having leave to go, the Kingslayer shut the door with an almighty bang, forcing yet another silence on the occupants of the small chamber.

This time, it broke in a moment.

"You are going to explain to me what just happened," insisted Catelyn as she turned to her mother, her green eyes flashing. "Now."

To Catelyn's surprise, Brienne of Tarth looked positively terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. As you can see, I decided to treat the Cersei pregnancy as real because I think in the mixed up world of the show, we were meant to see it as real. Please let me know what you think in a lovely comment or with kudos :)


	11. A Mother's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn asks Brienne about her father...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thank you for coming back! I am a little behind on replying to comments, but don't worry... I am getting there. In the meantime, please enjoy this most recent chapter.

As the Evenstar sat back down in her chair, her eyes were big, blue, and full of fear. Throughout the years, Catelyn had suspected she had seen that terror before in her mother's eyes during moments of weakness - when men offered her wine after a feast, when singers sung _The Bear and the Maiden Fair,_ and when somebody mentioned the past - but it was never so pronounced as right now.

"Mother," said Catelyn, pulling herself into a seated position while careful not to put weight on her right arm, "you cannot just leave me with answers to questions I did not even know I needed to ask. You have to explain to me what is going on. You have to tell me about the past... about my father." At Catelyn's imploring tone, her mother looked down at her freckled hands. Once, they had been strong, made for wielding Oathkeeper and grasping the manes of horses as she rode bareback across the island. Now, her fingers were pale and spidery blue veins were visible under the thin skin. Her sickness was doing its work well.

"Cat, there are so many things..." began the Evenstar, her voice uncharacteristically small, "things that are too difficult to explain..."

"Try," ordered Catelyn, not caring to be kind. It was far too late for kindness.

The Evenstar sighed and it was so loud it sounded as if there was a weight on her back pushing out all the air, making it difficult for her to speak. "I... I... I don't know where to start."

"At the beginning. Tell me how you fell in love," suggested Catelyn, thinking there was no more natural place to start. However, to Catelyn's surprise, at that statement, her mother let out a weak, amused laugh. "What?"

"I never fell in love with Jaime Lannister," she said resolutely. "When you fall, you get that swoop in your heart anticipating the pain when you smack down on the ground. With Jaime... I hated him and the next minute..." Perhaps it was the softness unleashed by that word - _Jaime_ \- or that she could not bring herself to say she loved him, but for some reason Catelyn's mother's words ran dry.

Catelyn furrowed her brow as her mother grew wistful. She was going to have to come at this from a different angle. "Alright," she said slowly. "Well... why don't you tell me how you came to hate the Kingslayer?"

The Evenstar flinched. "Don't call him that."

"What?"

"Kingslayer. He doesn't like it."

Catelyn looked at her mother confusedly. When Maester Yreme used to teach Catelyn her letters, he had used a beautifully bound copy of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ by Grand Maester Samwell. In it, the Kingslayer crimes had been written out in beautiful cursive, which Maester Yreme had had Catelyn diligently copy. When she had approached her mother afterwards to present her beautiful hand, the Evenstar had given her a faint smile as she read about the Kingslayer gutting the Mad King beside the Iron Throne and not uttered a word of complaint. There had been no question that the monster in the book and Jaime Lannister were the same man.

"What should I call him then?" Catelyn asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

It did not take a moment for her mother to supply her with the answer. "Jaime. His name is Jaime."

 _Jaime._ That word clearly held so much meaning that, after she had uttered it, Catelyn's mother stuttered into silence once more as she looked back down at her hands. It was as if the thought of him acted as a key that locked most of Brienne of Tarth away within herself and made it difficult for her to face the truth. "I will rephrase the question," offered Catelyn, trying to appear calm and composed even though her heart was racing at the speed of a galloping horse. "How did you come to hate Jaime Lannister?"

 _Jaime_ still felt far too intimate.

"As everyone comes to hate him, I suppose," replied her mother quietly, almost as if she were disappointed in the behaviour of her past self. "I believed every bad thing that was said about him, half of which wasn't true and the other half... distorted things quite substantially. I hated him before I had even met him which, in retrospect, seems quite foolish." Catelyn chewed on that thought for the moment. To her, history had always been a run of stories to accept as gospel. It seemed strange to Catelyn then that, as the Evenstar grew older, she had become a revisionist.

"How did you meet him?" Catelyn asked, putting away her philosophising, eager for an end to this mystery as well as filling in blanks of her mother's past.

Her mother sighed, settling back into her chair, as if preparing to tell her a bedtime story. Catelyn could tell it was going to take a long time. "I first met your father during the War of the Five Kings," said the Evenstar slowly, her words level and emotionless, "while working as the sworn sword of Lady Catelyn Stark, the woman you are named for."

"Queen Sansa's mother?" inquired Catelyn, even though she knew the answer.

The Evenstar nodded. "Lady Catelyn was a good woman who took me on after King Renly's death. She defended me after certain men claimed _I_ killed Renly and, for that, I felt a loyalty towards her that she repaid tenfold. She took me to the Westerlands with her, to the military camp belonging to her son, King Robb. And... that's where I met your father."

Catelyn looked at her mother confusedly and furrowed her brow. "What was a Lannister doing in a Stark military camp?"

"He was a prisoner of war," replied her mother, looking at Catelyn as if she could not truly see her daughter but was instead lost to the past. "King Robb had captured him after the Battle of the Whispering Wood and hoped to hold him as a bargaining chip. Jaime did not make that very easy for him, however."

"How so?"

"He pissed off near everyone in that camp," said the Evenstar, a strange rueful chuckle buried under her tone. "What you have to understand about Jaime is that he has an amazing ability to infuriate nearly everyone he meets. He liked to play the arrogant, uncaring Kingslayer every chance he got, even when manacled. It is not really him, but for some reason, he likes to pretend that he is hateful."

Catelyn tried to imagine rude, spitting Jaime Lannister tied up in some dungeon, but it was difficult. Even all these years later, there was still something strangely majestic about him. "What did he do that was so infuriating?"

"Tried to escape," replied her mother gruffily, as if it were obvious. "And in doing so, he killed Rickard Karstark's son. Before long, the Karstarks were agitating for Jaime's head and it was clear to Lady Catelyn that he would not last in that camp without increased protection, not when the Stark bannermen were out for his blood."

"So, what did she do?" asked Catelyn, feeling herself being pulled into this story.

Catelyn's question seemed to pull the Evenstar further back into the past than ever before, as then her expression turned somewhat sad. "At the time, Lady Catelyn thought her two daughters were held captive in King's Landing by the Lannisters. In truth, only Lady Sansa was - Lady Arya was long gone by then - but even so, she thought she could trade Jaime for her daughters."

Catelyn's eyes went very wide, suddenly feeling concerned that she was named after someone so seemingly stupid. "But that is an _awful_ trade. Two girls would not have been worth the Kingslayer, even if one of them was the future Queen of the North. No one with any sense would make that trade!"

At Catelyn's incredulous tone, the Evenstar looked at her disapprovingly. "Do you think girls are worth nothing?" asked her mother harshly. "I thought I had raised you better than that; to know your own worth, to know other women's worth."

"No, that's not what I mean..."

"Then the trade was perfectly valid," insisted Brienne, "perfectly honourable, because Lady Catelyn loved her daughters and wanted them back above anything else, even beyond the brief advantage of holding Jaime as a hostage."

Seeing there was no point fighting with her mother on the political stupidity of that decision, Catelyn pushed ahead with the main mystery she was trying to pursue. "Alright, so Lady Catelyn decided she wanted to trade the Kingslayer for her daughters. What happened next?"

"Well," began the Evenstar, her annoyance at Catelyn's dismissal of her namesake's plan dissipating, "Lady Catelyn had to make the arrangement without the knowledge of her son, Robb, who still wished to use Jaime as a bargaining chip with Tywin Lannister. Consequently, she arranged for me to smuggle him out of the camp and take him back to the capital, making us both swear to honour our oaths to return Sansa and Arya to their mother."

"And you expected the Kingslayer to keep it?" asked Catelyn, shocked.

The Evenstar let out an almost amused laugh. "Not initially. As I dragged him across the Riverlands, Jaime whined and whinged and moaned and complained. He insulted the way I looked and my honour, my knighthood and my loyalty, and my gods... if I had not sworn a sacred vow to Lady Catelyn, I would have run him through with my sword."

As Catelyn had a sharper temper than her mother, she thought if she had been stuck in that predicament, she would have smashed the Kingslayer's head in with a rock, buried him in the woods, and gone back to Tarth. It would have been a lot less effort. Her mother however, had seemingly taken quite a different approach. She was honourable like that. "How did your feelings for him change?" asked Catelyn confusedly, not quite understanding how sworn enemies - a gaoler and her captive - went from insulting each other to spending a month in one another's arms and conceiving a child.

"We were captured," replied the Evenstar, her tone suddenly clipped and stilted, "by a man named Locke, a hired mercenary who worked for Roose Bolton. He caught us because Jaime had managed to slip his chains, steal a sword, and was trying to escape from me. I stopped him... but the price was our freedom."

In spite of herself, Catelyn felt her heartbeat quicken. She knew Roose Bolton was the northern lord who had betrayed the Starks during the Red Wedding, and his son the animal who skinned people alive for fun. The thought of her mother and father in their grip was almost too horrible to comprehend.

"What happened then?"

The Evenstar bit her lip, and Catelyn could instantly tell her mother had never told anyone this story before. "Locke's men bound us together on a horse; sometimes back to back, other times facing each other. They preferred us that way, because they could laugh at us and call us the lovers. It was strange, but during those days, having your father there was the only sure thing in the entire world."

"Was that when you fell in love with him?" asked Catelyn, even though she did not know the first thing about romantic love and how it invaded the heart. Even so, the few romances in Evenfall's library that Catelyn had read always began with a press of lips to a hand or the longing for warm flesh. As Brienne of Tarth said herself, she was nothing special to look at, so if a love had bloomed between the gaoler and her captive on the back of that horse, it must have been the physical press of body on body that did it.

Therefore, Catelyn was somewhat surprised when her mother laughed. "No, it was not then... although perhaps it started not long after, that night in the woods."

Although Catelyn found it difficult to imagine her mother and the Kingslayer having some romantic assignation in the woods, if that was how it was, she wanted to hear the truth. "As much as I do want to know what happened," began Catelyn, trying not to wrinkle her nose, "try to spare me the intimate details."

At that statement, the Evenstar once again laughed, as robustly as if she were a healthy woman. "There are no intimate details. All that happened was that Locke's men decided they wanted somewhere to warm their cocks, and I was chosen as the lucky recipient of that honour." Only a week ago, Catelyn would have been horrified by this turn in the story, but since then she had been touched by Tam Stoker's wandering hands, so kept her mouth shut lest the memories flood back. "At first," continued her mother, "your father told me just to go away inside and think of something else while they used me for their perverse pleasures."

Catelyn let out a disgusted scoff. "What? While your body was being invaded?"

"Don't misinterpret him," chided her mother gently, "Jaime's advice came from a good place. We were both held captive by a band of villains. He thought that if I struggled, it would make it worse for me; they would beat me as well as rape me. In his own way, he was trying to protect me."

"Did you take his advice?" asked Catelyn, once more confused by her father's actions. "Did you go away inside?"

Brienne of Tarth snorted at that, almost as she thought the suggestion silly. "No. I kicked and screamed, determined that I would rather die than let them take me like that."

"Good for you."

Her mother blushed at the compliment, and the colour in her cheeks almost made her look well. "It did no good for us in the long run, though. Jaime told Locke that Tarth was called the Sapphire Isle because of its famous sapphire mines, not for the blue of its waters. He persuaded Locke that, if he treated me properly and kept me _unspoilt_ , my father would pay a huge ransom for me."

"He lied?" spluttered Catelyn, incredulous that someone would come up with an untruth so incredible straight to the face of a psychotic murderer. It was one thing to claim House Payne had a fortune in gold for a childhood friend, but a fictious sapphire mine for a woman the Kingslayer had barely known? It seemed preposterous. "Why did he lie? Did he desire you even then and wanted no other man to have you?"

At Catelyn's bemused question, her mother suddenly looked strangely worried, as if she had seen something in her daughter she had not noticed before. "No, Cat. He did not do it for lust, or revenge, or possessiveness. He did it because he could not stand to see me raped. There was nothing in it for him. He just did it because he was kind."

"But..." Catelyn began, determined to fix her mother's Jaime Lannister to the Kingslayer she had heard so much about. Both versions of him could not be true, after all.

However, her mother clearly did not want to hear her objections. Raising her hand, she silenced her daughter with a quick gesture. "If I am to continue this story, Cat, you must understand one thing."

"What?"

"Jaime Lannister was once the Kingslayer, but that is not all he is," said her mother ardently, her blue eyes suddenly very bright. "Yes, he has done everything history ascribes to him; killed his king, slept with his mad sister, pushed a boy out of the window. But seeing him that way is like claiming you read a book, when in fact you only skimmed the front page. He is so much more than the legend. So, if you want to know the truth, listen and let me tell my story."

Feeling a little chastised, Catelyn nodded and pulled her injured arm towards her chest. "Go on then, mother," she said levelly, trying to appear the attentive listener. "Tell me your story."

So she did.

"After Jaime's fabulous tale about sapphire minds on Tarth, Locke got it into his greedy little head that he could trade both captives for money, and you could almost see his eyes reflecting the gold he thought he was promised. Jaime sensed that, of course, so tried his luck."

"What did he do?" interrupted Catelyn, feeling herself being pulled along by the story.

Given that she had ordered Catelyn to listen only moments before, the Evenstar smiled at her daughter affectionately. "He tried to barter for our freedom," replied her mother, her smile dimming with every word, "by reminding Locke of his father's power. And do you remember I told you that Jaime had a prodigious talent for infuriating people?"

"Yes."

"Well, reminding Locke of his inferior position in society only succeeded in making the mercenary want to demonstrate his power. So, once Jaime thought he had succeeded in bartering for our lives, Locke cut his hand off as a torment and a punishment. I will never forget his scream until the day I die."

As her mother described what had happened to Jaime Lannister, Catelyn could not help but be taken back to her own maiming. Although she was now dosed up on opiates to keep the pain at bay, she could still remember the steel ripping through flesh and bone, and the feeling of wanting to die because she was weak and broken. Her mother did not know the exact circumstance that had led to the loss of her daughter's hand yet, but Catelyn could tell by the way the Evenstar was looking down at her bandaged stump that she was using the Kingslayer's maiming to fill in the blanks.

Not wanting this to become about her own injuries, Catelyn fixed her mother with a searching look that forced the Evenstar to tear her eyes away from her daughter's missing hand and stare her back at her past with courage and conviction. "What happened then?" asked Catelyn, still chasing after the first bloom of love in her mother's story.

"I looked after him," said the Evenstar, as if the answer was obvious. "For the entire journey to Harrenhal, I washed him, comforted him, and held him close as he cried. When he fell off his horse, I picked him back up. At night, I whispered comforting things to him. I tried to be gentle with him when I washed his hair or trimmed his beard, even though my hands are large and mannish."

That her mother had seemingly done this ignoble task for a man like Jaime Lannister without the slightest complaint confused Catelyn. "But why did you do it? He was a Lannister. He had been your captive. He was the _Kingslayer._ What possessed you?"

"He had tried to save me from a cruel rapist," replied the Evenstar, her voice betraying the tenderness she felt for the man who, only minutes previously, she had shouted at and called hateful. "And... there is something very easy to love about your father, once you see he is not the monster from legend. Only a man." From there, her mother told Catelyn all about the journey to Harrenhal; the endless mud, the cold, and Jaime's tears. It sounded a bitter and miserable experience, so Catelyn found she could sympathise when the Evenstar explained that the only solid, dependable thing during that dark time had been Jaime Lannister's warm body bound to hers.

"It was so easy to care for him," said her mother gently, "because he was warm and he was _there,_ and in return I got a small piece of softness too."

"Did things get better once you got to Harrenhal?" asked Catelyn, picturing the two terrified captives, huddled together for warmth, being hurried into the majestic haunted ruins of Harrenhal as her mother continued her tale.

"In some ways. We got some better food, Jaime's injuries were treated, and it was a lot warmer than sleeping in the forest, but Roose Bolton ordered me to wear a hideous pink dress - a woman's clothes, he called it - and sent both Jaime and I for a bath."

Catelyn furrowed her brow. "A bath? What? Together?"

"I do not think Lord Bolton intended us to share the tub," confessed the Evenstar, almost smirking, "but by that point, we were so used to physical closeness that it felt almost strange to be apart."

To Catelyn - who only knew of romantic love through books - it seemed that by the time of the bath at Harrenhal, her mother and father had been absolutely besotted with each other. "So... that was when you realised you loved him."

The Evenstar's eyes went wide. "No!"

"Why not?"

"Because no matter what had happened in the forest, he was still the _Kingslayer._ To me, he was an oathbreaker, a man without honour. I couldn't love him, because the man was still obscured from view by the monster I thought he was."

"What changed your mind?" asked Catelyn, her voice level.

"I am not sure," began her mother, biting her lip as she thought it through, "but I suppose it all started when Jaime told me the truth about the Mad King in the bath. It made me stop seeing him through a distorted lens and look at him properly. And when I looked... I saw only him. Jaime. Just Jaime." As another blush began to cover the Evenstar's cheeks as she thought of Jaime Lannister, Catelyn tried to consider her statement. What was the truth? Was it all a matter of perception? Or was there something tangible about it that had made her mother change her mind?

"What did he say?" inquired Catelyn, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. This was more than just the story of her parents love affair, but the history of the Seven Kingdoms themselves. If there was some hidden truth linger behind the pages of history concerning the murder of Aerys Targaryen, Catelyn longed to know it.

However, it seemed her mother was reluctant to give her the answer. "It is not my secret to tell. If you want to hear his story, you will have to ask him."

"But he might not even stay at Evenfall," said Catelyn, trying not to pout at her mother's denial, even though it was very hard. "How will I hear the story if he leaves again?"

A cloud of guilt momentarily passed her mother's face, but she recovered herself quickly. "If you want to talk to him about it, I will make sure he stays. It is the least he owes you."

Although there were a thousand unspoken truths hovering behind her mother's eyes, Catelyn knew there was no point pushing at points that would make her retreat and fearful, like a beaten dog. Therefore, Catelyn decided to move on from the bath onto the next stage of the story. "I will leave that for him to explain to me," she said magnanimously, as if she were a queen being kind to a subject, "but then you must tell me what happened next. Did you leave Harrenhal together and go back to King's Landing?"

Her mother shook her head. "No. Roose Bolton decided that, while it would be valuable to return Jaime to his family in the capital, I was worth less. Wanting to please his pet rat, Bolton therefore decided to hand me over to Locke as reward for his good service, while Jaime was sent back to King's Landing under the protection of a man named Steelshanks."

That was not how Catelyn expected the story to end, and it made her horrified. "That was it? My father was to leave, and you were to be handed over to that brute?"

"Yes," replied her mother, clearly unsurprised by the depressing turn in the story. "Although I got one moment with Jaime before we were separated, and I used it wisely."

"What did you do?" inquired Catelyn, intrigued as to where this story was going to go. With every twist and turn of the path, it grew more fascinating.

"I told him to keep his promise to Lady Catelyn," replied her mother, suddenly going misty-eyed. "I feared that once Ser Jaime was gone, Locke would likely treat me cruelly or worse, so I made him swear to see the Stark girls returned in case I could never fulfil my oath. It was the least I could do." As Catelyn watched her mother's eyes fill with tears, she reached out with her left hand and locked their fingers. Her mother had always been so brave, so good, that Catelyn thought the whole world did not deserve her.

"And did he keep his promise?" she asked, strangely hoping the answer would be yes. When her mother nodded, a flood of relief washed over Catelyn. "Good. Perhaps that was when he showed you he was deserving of something more than the name Kingslayer."

"Perhaps," replied her mother, a small smile dancing across her lips. "Or perhaps it was when he jumped into a bearpit, unarmed, to save me from a starving bear."

Catelyn's mouth dropped open in shock. "What?"

"Yes," said her mother, her small smile blooming into a grin. "Once Jaime was sent away from Harrenhal, Roose Bolton gave me to Locke, and then when Locke realised that my father was not sitting on a sapphire mine, he threw me into a bearpit for entertainment, armed only with a wooden sword."

As Catelyn continued to gawp, the Evenstar proceeded with her dramatic tale. "I thought I was doomed but then, the next minute, your father leapt in the pit and put himself between me and the bear. Steelshanks was forced to shoot the poor creature, but not before the two of us managed to escape, with only one another for support. _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ was what the crowds sung that day. It seemed apt."

Lost to the memories of Jaime and the bearpit, her mother's cheeks flushed and her eyes were lit up by a smile. To Catelyn, the cause was totally obvious. "And _that_ was when you realised you loved him!"

"Perhaps," replied the Evenstar, shrugging as her expression dimmed. "But while he was a hero from a story, I was just Brienne of Tarth. I thought it could never work, especially as I was a knight on a quest and he was a member of the Kingsguard. So I pushed the feeling down as deep as it could go as we journeyed back to King's Landing together - on his insistance, I might add - and even when I was forced to stay in the capital."

Putting the pieces together, Catelyn asked, "and was _that_ when you became lovers? Once you had returned to King's Landing?"

The Evenstar shook her head, the corners of her mouth heading southwards. "No, because it was one thing being each other's sole companion on a journey through the woods, quite another when you are in a snake pit surrounded by Lannisters. Jaime had been using Cersei as his guiding star the whole way back to the city and, therefore, once he had returned to her bower, he spent much time with her."

Wrinkling her nose in barely hidden disgust, Catelyn said, "even after everything you had been through, he still went back to _her?_ "

Her mother nodded; the mention of Cersei Lannister made her look much sicker than any illness ever had. "They were twins. He had loved her his whole life. I only saw her twice - once at King Joffrey's wedding to Margaery Tyrell, and once again years later - but both times she shone brighter than the morning star. How could I ever compete?"

Her mother had clearly intended the question to be rhetorical, but it obviously pricked at some deep seated pain locked in her heart, as her despair flickered across her face. Wanting to help her, Catelyn squeezed her fingers. "Was that it then? Did you leave King's Landing?"

"Yes," conceded the Evenstar, "but not until King Joffrey choked on his wedding pie. Queen Cersei blamed her brother Tyrion as well as his wife, the Lady Sansa. While Tyrion was locked up and put on trial, Lady Sansa managed to escape. I did not know it at the time, but Petyr Baelish had her whisked away to the Vale. Even so, in her absence, both Jaime and I realised what danger she was in. And so... as he was brave and true... he remembered his vow to Lady Catelyn and sent me to find her daughter."

After the adventure in the bearpit, Catelyn had been expecting some sort of romantic denouement to her parents' story, not a poisoned pie and a quest. "Did you go? Or did you insist he come with you?"

Smiling at her daughter's innocence, her mother said, "I went, and I did not insist he come with me. I knew he had duties in King's Landing; protecting his brother, pleasing his father, containing his sister's rage."

As her mother moved the other Lannisters onto the storyboard, for the first time, Catelyn truly considered them as her family. Her Uncle Tyrion, Hand of the King, who had spent half her life lying to her. Her crazy Aunt Cersei, whose greed and capriciousness had caused a kingdom to burn. And her Grandfather Tywin, the man who drowned rebelling vassals and butchered Elia Martell's babes. On Tarth, Catelyn's family had always been small; just herself, her mother, and her long dead grandfather. As a child, it had been a point of regret, but now found herself not wishing to add any of her father's dreadful relatives to the family tree.

"Did you even say goodbye?" asked Catelyn, scared at the prospect that her father would leave her mother with these blooming feelings but no confirmation of them.

At that, Brienne of Tarth smiled so sweetly that Catelyn thought her heart would break me in two. "Yes, he did, but before that he gave me gifts."

"What gifts?" inquired Catelyn, imagining rubies, diamonds, and pearls as big as a quail's egg.

"Firstly, he gave me a suit of armour, specially made for me," she said proudly, clearly treasuring this gift above all others. "Secondly, he gave me a squire. You might know him. His name is Podrick."

Catelyn's eyes went very wide. "My father gave you Podrick?"

"Yes," nodded her mother. "Pod had served Tyrion before he was arrested and, wanting to save the boy, Jaime passed him over to me to keep him safe."

Remembering what joy Pod had brought to her mother's life, Catelyn said, "what wonderful gifts!"

"But that wasn't all," replied the Evenstar, her grin growing. "When Ned Stark was arrested and executed, the Lannisters had come into possession of the Stark family's Valyrian steel sword. Seeing as they did not have one of their own, Tywin Lannister did not return the sword to Ned's grieving family, but instead had two new swords forged for House Lannister. The first was a pretty little longsword that was gifted to King Joffrey on his wedding. He called it Widow's Wail."

At that, Catelyn started stammering, "but Widow's Wail is _Podrick's_ sword..."

"And the second," declared her mother, forestalling any questions, "was given to Jaime. Tywin intended it to be a family heirloom but, fearing it was a way to laugh at him after the maiming, Jaime gave it to me. He felt I could put it to much better use, and asked me to use Ned Stark's sword to find and protect his daughter. I called it Oathkeeper."

Catelyn moved on from stammering to just blankly staring. "My father gave you a priceless Valyrian steel sword, the type of sword Tywin Lannister had been waiting half a lifetime to hold?"

Brienne nodded, her expression growing sad. "Yes, and I have treasured it ever since. It is my most prized possession, and one day it will be yours."

For many years Catelyn had been aware she would inherit Oathkeeper, but only now did she realise its significance. It was almost like the sword that the Maiden had given Galladon of Morne, the Perfect Knight, that he had named the Just Maid. "Thank you," Catelyn stuttered, not even looking down at her maimed hand that would never be able to wield Oathkeeper. "It is an honour."

For the first time since Catelyn had woken up from the dreamwine, she thought her mother looked genuinely happy. "I am glad to hear. One day, perhaps you could defend the innocent with her."

"Is that what you did?" asked Catelyn, intrigued. "Defend the innocent? Did you go and find Lady Sansa?"

"Yes I did," conceded her mother, "but you know that story well. I found her in the Wolfswood after she and Theon Greyjoy escaped Ramsay Bolton, before taking her to her brother Jon at Castle Black. From there, the two of them plotted to take Winterfell back for the Starks."

Although normally Catelyn loved the stories of Winterfell's retaking, at that moment she wanted to hear the part in the romance where the two lovers reunited, so she tried to steer her mother back onto topic. "Did you write to Ser Jaime?" Was he..." she searched for the word, "proud?"

"No, I did not write to him," admitted the Evenstar, her voice suddenly taking on its familiar heaviness. "In fact, over the next few years I only communicated with him twice, and that was when we were face to face; once at the siege of Riverrun, where I persuaded him to take the castle without violence, and once at the Dragonpit, when the Armies of the Living attempted to show Queen Cersei the truth of the situation in the north."

 _A few years!_ thought Catelyn horrified. _If I loved someone, I would run to them immediately._

Catelyn was appalled. "But you loved him! How could you bear to not see him?"

"He was with me every day," confessed the Evenstar wistfully, "every time I helped Pod train, I saw Ser Jaime's hand guarding him. Every time I saw Lady Sansa laugh, I knew she would have been dead if it were not for Ser Jaime. And every time I looked at my sword, I realised he had armed, armoured, and offered me protection in a way no one else has ever done. His protection had started when he saved me from being raped by Locke's men, and I felt it with me every day. I even saw it in his eyes when I met him at Riverrun and King's Landing. Neither of us could dare name it, but I _knew."_

Squeezing her mother's hand, Catelyn tried to urge her to press on. This was no longer the search for her own truth, but the singing of a song that should last the ages. "And then? Did you next meet at Winterfell?"

At the mention of that word - _Winterfell_ \- a hundred emotions flared behind her mother's eyes. "Yes. After Cersei broke her promise to send troops to aid the fight for the living, Jaime came north, alone, to fulfil his vows to fight by our side. Even though he knew he was walking into a den filled with his enemies, he did it anyway, because he is a good person. He wanted to keep his vow."

"And they just accepted him after everything his family had done?" asked Catelyn, surprised. "Daenerys? Jon Snow? Sansa?"

The Evenstar nodded. "After a little persuasion, yes, and on the condition that he serve under me personally."

As her mother started to blush once again, perhaps because of the subtle innuendo, Catelyn filled in the gaps for her. "And then the night before the battle, he knighted you, and then you fought side by side against the dead."

"With our twin swords," added her mother, her eyes sparkling. "If I was still a young girl, I would say it was like something out of a story." Catelyn was sure that while remembering a cataclysmic battle against the dead, one should not look so happy, yet her mother seemed lost to bliss. Although it seemed wrong to disturb her happy reminiscing, throughout her life, Catelyn had heard songs of the Battle of Winterfell and knew the role her heroic mother had played. Consequently, she wanted to talk about something more important.

The month at Winterfell.

"And after the battle? What happened then?"

Catelyn could tell that her mother found the topic awkward, just as Catelyn herself did, so made an effort to skirt around the more intimate details. "After the battle, there was a great feast, where Tyrion organised for us to play a drinking game. In the end, I grew embarrassed of the conversation topic, so I retired to my chamber. It was then that your father came to me. He was a little drunk, but both of us knew what we wanted."

"Did he tell you he loved you?" asked Catelyn, imagining a great sonnet that Jaime Lannister had recited in a candlelit chamber in the coldest castle in the Seven Kingdoms.

Yet, to her surprise, her mother shook her head. "No. He did not need to. I saw it."

After that confession, an awkward silence fell, because both of them knew what came next. Abandonment. Heartbreak. Seventeen years. Summoning the courage, Catelyn tried to provide her version of the story from the few pieces of information she had. "And yet... after a month... he went back to his sister, to King's Landing..."

"Without saying goodbye," said the Evenstar, as a stiff awkward addition. "He tried to sneak out and, if I hadn't woken up, he would have succeeded."

Disgusted by this ending, Catelyn shook her head. "No, that is not what was supposed to happen."

"But it did," replied her mother regretfully, her eyes dropping to her hands once more. "He listed his sins and declared that he was hateful just like his sister. I told him he was a good man who didn't deserve... didn't deserve..."

Just then, tears started to well in her mother's eyes, and Catelyn squeezed her hand once more. It caused her to grimace in an attempt to smile, in her failure to prove that she was not affected by the spectre of Jaime Lannister, come to life once more. "I am sorry, Cat," she sniffed, "it just breaks my heart even all these years later."

"Then you need to _talk_ to him," replied Catelyn softly, suddenly picturing a way of sewing a new family together from two old broken ones. "Not just because he has herbs from Marahai or wherever, but because you deserve peace. We _all_ deserve peace. For all these years, I have just wanted to know who he was... to understand..."

"I am sorry," said her mother again, hiccupping slightly. "I did not want to lie to you. It was just every time I thought of him it was as if someone had ripped my heart out. When Tyrion gave me his golden hand, I wept for three whole days. I know I was wrong to keep it a secret from you, but I didn't want to burden you. I did not want you weighed down by old sins. I wanted to you be free."

The Evenstar's eyes dropped to Catelyn's bandaged stump, gory and not yet healed, and began to cry harder. Perhaps she saw Jaime's maiming in her daughter's severed limb, and imagined an unbroken wheel of sin and regret, rotating and rotating longer than any one man could live. Wanting to soothe her, Catelyn smiled at her mother.

"Thank you for telling me," she whispered, "I have been waiting many years to hear this story."

Regret and relief danced in her mother's eyes as she answered. "I am sorry it took so long."

"I understand," Catelyn replied, because she truly did. By all accounts, her mother had broken her heart over Jaime Lannister and tried to keep her own grief away by pushing the secrets down, burying them until they could no longer be seen. It had hurt Catelyn herself, yes, but at least now she understood why her mother than seemed so shutdown on the top of her father.

Yet, there were still somethings unclear.

 _They loved each other once,_ thought Catelyn as she smiled at her mother. _But do they still love each other now?_

_And can they make amends?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it! As ever, I love to hear what you think about my story. Each and every comment makes me a better writer!


	12. Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn eventually emerges from her room...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back! Sorry this has been a while; I have too many WIPs and life is a little crazy at the moment. I hope you enjoy x

It took two weeks of milk of the poppy, dreamwine, and stitches for Catelyn to be well enough to finally leave her bed again. In some ways, she was thankful. Even though she detested Tam Stoker, she did not really want to see to gruesome display of him hanged in Evenfall Market, so was grateful she could use her injury as an excuse to stay back in her room. However, most of the time, she was just bored. As her mother was in ill health herself, it was not as if she could come visiting every day, and there was only so much of Ty excitable twelve year old babble she could take. Consequently, Catelyn had little to do other than think; about her life, her situation, and how her whole world had suddenly got much bigger than her mother's small island.

On her second day of confinement, she asked Podrick if her father was still at Evenfall Hall. He shook his head. "No, I would not have him in the castle upsetting your mother."

"Has he been sent away?" asked Catelyn, her stomach swooping with terror, "but you can't! You have to bring him back!"

Podrick put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and gave her an almost fatherly smile. "He has not gone. I just thought it best he stays down in town rather than up here. We already have much to deal with considering the issues with tax collecting and bandits and... for all he is your father, he is still the Kingslayer, and him being here... is very hard on your mother."

"Don't call him that," ordered Catelyn imperiously, the words out of her mouth before she fully had time to process why she was saying them.

Podrick also seemed a little confused by her objection, as he let out a snort of laughter. "Why not?"

"He does not like it," said Catelyn, feeling quite confident that, even if she did not know the full reason, the name _Kingslayer_ did not fit Jaime Lannister. "And neither does mother."

To her surprise, Podrick shook his head sadly. "Well, your mother was always determined to see the best in Jaime Lannister, even when he behaved abominably."

"He did not always behave abominably, did he?" countered Catelyn quickly, unsure quite why she was defending the man who gave her his green eyes. "He sent you to mother, didn't he?"

To Catelyn's surprise, Podrick looked down at his hands. "He did."

"Well then," said Catelyn lightly, trying to brighten the mood, "he cannot be all bad."

Even though Catelyn was aiming for soft reconciliation, Podrick's face tightened into a grimace. "Perhaps."

_Perhaps... perhaps... perhaps..._

The Castellan of Evenfall Hall was one of the best men Catelyn had ever met. He was family; indeed, as a small child, Catelyn had become quite confused when her mother had explained to her that Podrick was not her Da, just mother's squire. That had opened up a whole lifetime of questions, of course, but she still felt very strongly for her almost-father. It therefore made it quite difficult to swallow that Podrick was so opposed to the prospect of Jaime Lannister's return. She at least wanted to give her father a chance to explain.

_Perhaps... perhaps... perhaps..._

Days later, once her wound was no longer inflamed and painful, Catelyn went out into the castle for the first time. She had hoped people would treat her normally, even in spite of her injury, but of course now she was irrevocably changed so they all stared without thought to her feelings.

 _I used to be gazed at for being beautiful,_ Catelyn thought. _Now it is because I am a crippled freak._

Before the loss of her hand, Catelyn had always found people's attention warm and kind. Men and women were always interested in Lady Catelyn and her opinions, always wishing her a good day. Meg had always told her it was because she was _pretty,_ and she should learn to wield her power rather than assume it was an innate gift that everyone possessed. Catelyn had been convinced Meg was wrong, but now she had lost her hand, she started to doubt her convictions, because every time someone met her gaze, she just saw pity.

Not being able to take being thought so little of, Catelyn retreated to the herb garden under the east wall. It was one of the few places in Evenfall Hall where one could get some respite from the gawping servants and visitors to the castle, as to enter, one had to come through the private quarters of either Catelyn herself or her mother, which needed express permission. Consequently, Catelyn was not surprised to find herself alone, and made most of the opportunity by setting about creating a bunch of flowers for her mother. As her mother was locked in her room for most of the day, Catelyn thought the Evenstar would appreciate something colourful and sweet smelling, so she tried her best at weaving together a pretty posy that she would be able to take to her.

Of course, her _best_ was not what it once was. To create to perfect posy, Catelyn knew she had to cut the stems with a little knife she sometimes carried with her. However, she found it very difficult left handed, and that lead to her swearing at the flowers under her breath as she hacked at them.

"Are you alright down there?"

Jumping up from her squatting position, Catelyn span around to face the door leading to her mother's quarters. To her surprise, Jaime Lannister stood there, watching her while wearing a crooked smile. For a split second, Catelyn thought she saw a trace of the lost charms that had once seen him proclaimed the most beautiful man in the Seven Kingdoms.

Pulling her injured arm close to her body, trying to conceal her weakness, Catelyn nodded. "I am fine."

"Are you sure?" he asked, walking forward until he was all the way inside the garden. "Because... if you are trying to do things as equally well with your left as with your right, it will take practice I assure you."

Catelyn blushed at how well he could read her, then looked down at the flowers. "I was just... I..."

"It is quite alright," he said, forcing her to raise her eyes back up. Now, Jaime Lannister was standing right in front of her. Taking one of the least hacked blossoms from her posy, he tucked it behind her ear, threading it in her hair with a delicacy of touch she would not have expected from him. "These things take time. You will get better at making a posy, I promise."

"I highly doubt that," Catelyn snarked in response. In the weeks she had had to reconcile herself to her new life, Catelyn had just concluded that it would be emptier without her hand, especially now people only considered as a freak deserving of their pity. "I am a cripple. I will be _crippled_ from now on."

Jaime Lannister looked at her with amusement in his eyes. "I am a cripple too, but after my maiming I was still able to write, still able to eat my dinner, still able to wield a sword. Yes, I was never the Lion of Lannister again, and yes, all things took practice, but I eventually learnt how."

As if to show him, Catelyn lifted up the posy, revealing the hacked stems of the flowers. "You think? I believe I am quite hopeless."

"There is always a way," said Jaime Lannister, as if telling her an old adage. "I learnt that from your mother; whatever happens in life, you can't let yourself fall down and cry about it. You have to get up. Bad things happen. Try and see the good."

"Like she did in you, you mean?" asked Catelyn, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Jaime Lannister flinched, his face screwing up, before composing himself once more. "Like your mother did in me," he agreed, his voice quiet. "I don't know what she saw... but she saw _something."_

As he fell into a kind of contemplative silence, Catelyn knew she would never get anything out of him unless she poked him, so she launched another question at him. "You saved her from being raped, didn't you? And what about the bear? Did that mean nothing?"

Biting amusement once more crossed his face. "Someone has been asking questions."

"Someone _deserves_ answers," countered Catelyn, wondering if he could see the extent of her hunger for the truth in her eyes.

Perhaps Jaime Lannister did, for then he nodded gently, almost as if he understood. "What do you want to ask me?"

In the two weeks she had been confined to her bed, Catelyn had come up with a thousand questions for her father, but three had come to predominate her thoughts.

"Why does my mother think you do not deserve the name Kingslayer?"

It was very clear that Jaime Lannister had not been expecting that, as his face went very white. "What has your mother been telling you?"

"That you told her the truth about the Mad King in the bath," said Catelyn, trying to push down the image of some dark room, alive with steam and secrets. "And that if I wanted to know the truth, I had to ask you, because it was not her place to tell me."

"No," bit back Jaime Lannister, in his anger the Kingslayer again, "it was not her place to tell you."

Not liking the subtle criticism of her mother's attack of truth telling, Catelyn fixed him with a warning look. "That was why she told me that it should be _you_ who told me."

To Catelyn's surprise, Jaime Lannister laughed at her growling tone.

"What?"

"Nothing," he smirked, "it is just you look so much like your mother when you pull that face." Feeling proud of that fact rather than ashamed, Catelyn stuck her nose in the air, trying to appear superior. That just made Jaime Lannister laugh harder. "Now you look like me."

Annoyed with his teasing, yet at the same time feeling like a comet falling into an easy orbit around a planet, Catelyn declared, "you are just trying to distract me. Will you answer the question? I wish to know why my mother thinks you do not deserve the name Kingslayer."

There was another few seconds during which Jaime Lannister weighed up his options, before letting out a sigh that spoke of years of secrets. "I suppose it is not such a terrible thing for people to know now," he said distantly, clearly thinking of another time, "especially since Daenerys Targaryen burnt King's Landing to the ground with her dragons and wildfire."

Catelyn furrowed her brow confusedly. "What has that got to do with anything?" inquired Catelyn, unsure of where this thread of a story was going.

"The Mad King," said Jaime Lannister, his voice weighed down by years of hiding. "I did not kill him to avenge Rickard and Brandon Stark, nor because I was innately dishonourable, nor because the Mad King had asked me to bring him my father's traitorous head, but because there were barrels of wildfire hidden all over the city. By slaughtering him in the throne room, I prevented the capital being burnt to the ground and half a million innocent people with it. After I killed him, I made sure all his pyromancers were dead in order to keep the secret of the wildfire's existance. I thought I had succeeded, yet years later both Daenerys Targaryen and my sister used them for their own ends."

"Why did you keep that a secret?" asked Catelyn, blinking at him in almost disbelief. "Why didn't you tell anybody?"

Jaime Lannister looked very sad at that question. "Who would have believed me? Ned Stark judged me guilty the moment he walked into the throne room and saw the Mad King dead at my feet. And who would I have told? Could I have trusted Robert Baratheon with the secret of the wildfire? Would he have one day been tempted to use them against his enemies? And if not him, what of his advisors? No, it was best I sent the secret to the Mad King's grave..."

"Yet by telling no one you let them stay hidden, ripe for the Mad Queen and the Bad Queen to find," interjected Catelyn exasperatedly. "You should have told someone. Ned Stark may have helped... _someone_ may have helped..."

"How could I have told anyone?" he asked with a derisive snort, his tone desperate. "Who could I trust with that secret?"

Catelyn had an answer for him almost instantly. "You told my mother," she said firmly, trying to keep hold of him and not lose him to the past and regret. "Did you trust her?"

"Of course," he replied gently, looking so soft Catelyn could hardly believe she had ever called him the Kingslayer. "Your mother was the only touch of kindness in a whole year in a world that hated me. She was good to me when she had no cause to be. And that's ultimately why I told her; because I could not stand her to think so badly of me, not when she was so good."

In ruminating on her mother's goodness, Jaime Lannister suddenly went misty-eyed, like an old man remembering a long ago golden summer. In response to that tiny glimpse of Jaime Lannister's heart, Catelyn's second question was less about external judgement and more about internal shame. "Did you ever love my mother?" she asked, looking for confirmation rather than evidence.

"Yes," Jaime Lannister replied swiftly, his eyes bright, "I still love her."

That made no sense to Catelyn considering everything that had happened since that day he left her at Winterfell, so she asked an additional question to try to dig out the truth. "Then why did you leave?"

Jaime Lannister shrugged, as if he were a schoolboy who did not know the answer to a particularly difficult Maths question. "Sometimes love just isn't enough."

Although she had only been alive for seventeen short years, Catelyn thought she knew enough about the world to believe that a was a lie. "Love is enough. I have spent seventeen years watching my mother's loyal squire refuse to leave her side even when there could have been a better, brighter life for him elsewhere, so do not tell me love is not enough. You just chose something else."

"What do you think I chose?" asked Jaime Lannister, his expression one of genuine bafflement. The look in his eye made Catelyn wonder if he truly believed he was a man marked by love, a man shaped and twisted by it, the product of a love that was external to him and out of his control. If he did, Catelyn thought he had the wrong definition for what love was.

 _Love does not make you a victim,_ Catelyn thought. _Love makes you transcend any constraints you are placed in and allows you to live beyond._

"I think you chose your sister," she replied, trying to keep the sharp accusation she felt out of her tone. "I think you chose _my_ sister."

His eyes seemed very big and green at that moment, filled with an emotion Catelyn could not name. "I have regretted almost all the decisions I have made during my life," he admitted slowly. "Maiming Bran Stark. Loving my sister. Betraying your mother. But do not ask me to regret Joanna. I cannot do that."

Even though Catelyn found herself nodding, his request hurt, because by not regretting Joanna, it meant he did not regret leaving his other daughter in darkness and ignorance, pressed down by questions she did not know she had to ask. Determined to appear unaffected, however, Catelyn changed the subject. "Will you be staying at Evenfall Hall? You have been here a few extra weeks after all."

Jaime Lannister let out an uneasy sigh. "I don't know. I do not think your mother would be too pleased with my presence. She only asked that I stay until you have all your questions answered."

Deciding to play hardball, Catelyn said, "I have half a lifetime of questions for you; you would have to stay _years_ to answer them all."

He laughed, the chuckle a mixture of strange fondness and bitterness. "I fear your mother would not give me that long." Clearly trying to soften the blow, Jaime Lannister looked down at the posy once more, and ran his fingers over the petals. "You have a good eye for colour and detail, just like Joanna did. She was always the first to spot the snowdrops in the spring."

 _Joanna._ The sister she never knew. The sister she _would_ never know. The sister who had their father's love most entirely because he had raised her since she was a babe, since he had truly known her, since she had been borne by the woman he _chose._ Perhaps he would be happier in the Summer Sea with Joanna's ghost than on Tarth with his real flesh-and-blood daughter. A lump bloomed in Catelyn's throat as she tried to speak, her words heavy.

"I am not asking you to stay for me," she proclaimed, fearing he did not wish to know the daughter that was not Joanna. "I am asking you to stay for my mother."

Jaime Lannister's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair. "Your mother? Why would you want me to stay for her?"

 _Love_ was no answer with Jaime Lannister, so Catelyn tried another tack. "Because she is stubborn before everything else, and even though she has been angry at you every time you have spoken, she feels other things towards you as well... I know it. I can arrange for you to talk again, to speak about things properly. In spite of everything that has passed between you, you both deserve to discuss things without anger, blame, or regret, if only to put the past to bed once and for all."

Jaime Lannister's lips quirked in something echoing a smile as he considered her offer. Thinking it would take more than just words, Catelyn extended her left hand towards him to give him the slightly mauled posy. His smile grew when he took it from her.

"I will think on it," he said, his voice hoarse as he raised his eyes from the flowers to look at her, "and tell you in the morning."

That was all Catelyn could ask; for him to give the life he had abandoned a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As ever, I love to hear what you think via comments or kudos :)


	13. Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn settles back into life at Evenfall Hall...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I am sorry I have been so long on this chapter. I have just had such major writing block with this story. Hopefully that has all passed now, as here is the next chapter!
> 
> I hope you enjoy, as it is slightly more positive than previous chapters!

After losing her hand, Catelyn took a slow, steady journey back to normality over the weeks and months that followed, even if it did involve things that would have been out of the ordinary for her when she used to have a right hand. Once, she had been brilliant at embroidery, but no more, so she found herself sitting for hours in her solar, trying to master the cross stitch with her inferior hand. In the absence of her right hand, the beautiful cursive she had once been able to write her letters in was gone, so she was back to assiduously copying out paragraphs of text like a child. Yet, perhaps most importantly of all, the newest change to Catelyn's life was her greater interest in Tarth as something other than her personal kingdom. After the run in with Tam Stoker and his band of outlaws, Catelyn had become greatly concerned by the state of the island she was likely to inherit most probably sooner rather than later. Yes, Podrick had made sure Tam was publicly executed as a warning to other potential bandits, but Catelyn was not sure that would solve the problem if there was some great underlying issue as to why outlaws were gathering in the woods.

Consequently, she decided to bring it up with her mother and Podrick when she insisted on joining their next meeting.

"Tam Stoker was an ruffian and a brigand," huffed Podrick dismissively, crossing his arms across his chest. "There's nothing more to say about it."

Considering that Tam Stoker had been doing a brilliant job of raising a personal army in the woods, Catelyn thought that was an inadequate explanation, so she pushed harder. "But what about the men that were with him? Surely not all of them take pleasure in violence?"

"You would be surprised," said Podrick darkly. In his years as a sword, as a knight, Podrick Payne had become hardened to the motivations of men, and it was apparent in his answer, even as the Evenstar went to shake her head.

"No, I don't believe that most men are motivated by violence," she conceded, "but I imagine several of them were. Poor situations bring the worst out of men."

Catelyn thought that was a limited response. "But what are these poor situations? Is life on Tarth so terrible that they would rather live out of the bounds of normal society in a camp in the woods?"

At her daughter's question, the Evenstar got to her feet and walked across the room to look out of the window with only minimal help from her stick. It really was quite incredible how much stronger she was now she was taking the tincture that Ser Jaime had bought from Marahai. She almost looked _well_.

Looking out at the stretching green landscape before her, lines of worry overcame Catelyn's mother's brow as she responded. "There have been bad harvests recently, despite our best efforts to increase what little farmland we have and import grain from the mainland. And then there are the marble mines. Essos is still in turmoil, even though the Dragon Queen has been dead seventeen years. It gives us fewer buyers for our marble, for when kings, princes, and lords are regularly threatened by the axe, who is going to build palaces, halls, and temples? Consequently, there is limited work for the men on Tarth, which forces them to leave the island or feed their families in more salubrious ways."

"Then we must find them work," insisted Catelyn, as if the task was easy.

Podrick let out a little laugh. "What do you think we have been doing? We've tried to advertise Tarth marble to new markets, but to no avail. We've tried hanging any suspected outlaw, but there is always a kind of wordless support for them amongst the people, even for the monsters like Tam Stoker. And yet day after day there are more beggars on the streets, more mouths to feed. We are doing our best, but it is already hard enough when your mother..."

Remembering who he was in the presence of, Podrick suddenly shut his mouth, and it caused Catelyn's mother to turn around and face them both, a half amused smile on her face. "Podrick is trying to say that it is already hard enough when I am ill. As my father taught me, there are several ways one can have power Catelyn; through status, institutional authority, or personal charisma. On an island like Tarth, the latter counts for much."

"Then why don't these brigands fear you?" asked Catelyn, cradling her stump in her hand. If Tam Stoker had been terrified of Brienne of Tarth, maybe her maiming would not have happened. "You are the Evenstar. You fought the dead and lived. You rescued Queen Sansa. And you were the leader of the Kingsguard of Bran the Broken. Why are men like Tam Stoker not quaking in their boots?"

Instead of coming up with an instant reply, the Evenstar just looked at Catelyn sadly. "Because when men like Tam Stoker look at me now, they do not see what I once was. They just see a shadow."

"That is preposterous," Catelyn said, gazing at her mother firmly. Yes, she was thinner than she had been, her skin more sallow, and she walked with a slight stoop, but she was still the Evenstar. How could people not quake when in the presence of a legend? "If lesser men do not have brains, we must _make_ them remember."

"How?" asked Podrick curiously, raising an eyebrow at her.

Suddenly, Catelyn realised she had the attention of both the castellan and Evenstar. Now was her chance to prove that she was more than the little child they used to dandle on her knee. "We have to make the people of Tarth invested in wanting to protect their island from bandits."

"And how are we going to do that?" inquired Pod. "The people seem to think that the poor economic conditions are the Evenstar's fault. How are we meant to change their minds?"

The plan came into Catelyn's mind quickly in bits and pieces, so it was not fully formed by the time she unleashed it out into the air. "We create an Island Watch and _pay_ them to protect the city and major economic areas from bandits."

At Catelyn's suggestion, her mother and Pod exchanged an intrigued glance. Catelyn took it as an opportunity to press ahead. "We make it separate from the City Watch and the Evenstar's personal guard but funded from taxes. We make sure we recruit from the citizenry, so people feel their fathers, sons, and brothers are involved in defending the island from bandits. Not only would it provide jobs for the unemployed men and buy the loyalty of them and their families, but it would help round up the remaining outlaws."

"That's not a bad plan," said Podrick levelly, looking up at the Catelyn's mother for confirmation.

The Evenstar was less convinced.

"There are problems," began Catelyn's mother slowly. "We would need someone to organise the men, someone who is trained in warfare, strategy, and swordplay, and we have no such people in the castle who are not otherwise engaged since our last Master at Arms died two moons ago. I doubt we could find such a man from the farmers, merchants, and hawkers of Tarth."

The answer came to Catelyn in a moment. "I could go and ask Mistress Jeyne down at the Blue Pig if she knows such a man. She knows everyone on the island; she is bound to know someone. As I would not want to impose any extra work on either of you, I could go now. I fancy a walk into town."

Catelyn had thought she was making headway, but then her mother went very white. "You won't go on your own. Not after what happened last time."

"Of course," said Catelyn reassuringly, wanting to make this as easy as possible for her mother to accept. "I will take one of the guards."

The Evenstar pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and began to worry at it. "Alright, but as long as you tell Mistress Jeyne this is only an idea and not a definite plan. I do not want to get people's hopes up, especially if we cannot find anyone who fits the bill."

"Or maybe we could just send out letters?" suggested Podrick. "Surely someone on the mainland can suggest a suitable Master at Arms."

The second her mother looked to be considering that option, Catelyn went to shut it down at once. "NO! I will go and look for someone in town. I want some fresh air and to have some purpose, especially after losing my hand."

Knowing that her mother had watched Jaime Lannister cope with losing his hand in those long ago days in the Riverlands, Catelyn gave the Evenstar her most hopeful smile. It was a mean trick, but she thought it would work. And, anyway, there was no way that Catelyn was going to allow her mother to send a letter to all the other Stormlander Lords to find some stranger to take up the position of Master at Arms. As far as Catelyn could see, there was only one man suitable for the job. Not only did he have experience leading men at the Battle of the Whispering Wood and the Battle of the Gold Road, he had stood with the army of the living against the dead.

He also happened to be Catelyn's father.

* * *

Once Catelyn had her mother and Podrick's permission, Catelyn went to find one of the guards to escort her down to the Blue Pig. She felt a little wary travelling through the woods, but nothing untoward happened and the journey was uneventful, so she arrived at the inn around midday. After leaving her horse for her guard to look after, Catelyn entered the Blue Pig, looking around for Jaime Lannister the second she stepped inside. All the way down from Evenfall Hall, she had worried that her father would be out, but once again, she found Jaime Lannister staring into the fire as intently as a shadowbinder, eating a bowl of broth.

He put his lunch down on a nearby table when he saw her. "Oh, good day Lady Catelyn."

"Good day, Ser Jaime," she said courteously, not wanting to rush things. "How are you?"

"Well," he replied, smiling at her. "How is the hand?"

"Healing up. I appreciate those left handed scissors you sent me. They will be very helpful for my embroidery."

Ser Jaime nodded politely at her thanks and then moved onto the more pressing issue. "Why are you here, my lady?"

The lie was on her tongue before Catelyn had time to think. "My mother sent me. She wants to speak with you."

Ser Jaime's eyes went very wide, half in surprise, half in shock. "She... she... wants to speak... with me?"

"Yes," replied Catelyn quickly, thinking that marching through the lie would make it sound convincing. "She wants to see you _now_."

At that outrageous untruth, her father scrabbled to his feet. "Brienne wants to see me? Truly?" In that moment - with his eyes wide and his mouth half open in shock - Catelyn thought there seemed something very youthful, innocent, and soft about Ser Jaime.

 _I imagine that is what my mother loves about him,_ thought Catelyn, seeing it more clearly for the first time. _The romantic boy that the bitter man hides._

"Yes," repeated Catelyn, wanting to get back to Evenfall Hall as quickly as possible. "So, why don't you saddle your horse? She is waiting for you."

* * *

Given how excited Jaime was to be invited to talk by the Evenstar, Catelyn felt a little bit guilty as they returned to Evenfall Hall. Although her mother was now markedly more robust since she had been taking the medicine from Marahai, Catelyn could not guarantee that she would not explode with fury at the suggestion that Jaime Lannister be made Master at Arms and lead the new island guard. Nevertheless, Catelyn did not want to give up. If a role was not found for her father on the island soon, it was entirely possible that he would sail away on the next ship, forever lost like flotsam and jetsam.

Catelyn could not let that happen.

She _would_ not let that happen.

For all her bravado, however, Catelyn started to lose her courage once she and her father were standing outside the door to the Evenstar's solar. Her mother could be quite scary when angry, and Catelyn did not want to make the fraught relationship between her parents any worse than it was. A little fearful, Catelyn tried to calm herself down.

 _You have to try something,_ she thought. _Something must be done to make sure my father stays._

Yet, if Catelyn was nervous, Ser Jaime Lannister looked positively terrified as he kept straightening his jerkin, fixing his collar, and letting out nervous puffs of breath. It was quite unnerving. He was the _Kingslayer,_ a legend in his own lifetime.Surely he should be a little more... authoritative. As he continued to fuss over his clothes, Catelyn looked at him as if he had gone insane.

"Are you quite alright?"

When her father turned to look at her, Catelyn noted that he was pale. "Yes, I am fine," he stammered. "Why?"

"You seem nervous."

At that observation, white was replaced by an embarrassed redness. "Your mother can be a little terrifying sometimes, that is all."

"So she can," chuckled Catelyn, laughing at the thought of the youthful Kingslayer cowed by her young and impressionable mother. "You must have learnt that when she was dragging you around the Riverlands by a rope."

An echo of a smile crossed her father's face. "It took her cutting down several Stark soldiers for me to realise quite how scary she was."

Having coaxed him to relax by evoking happy memories - although she thought a period of imprisonment being amongst his best memories said much for the amount of joy Jaime Lannister had experienced in his life - Catelyn knocked on the door.

"Come in!" came the deep, unmistakeable voice of Brienne of Tarth from the other side of the door. Not waiting a moment longer, Catelyn pushed her way into the room, Ser Jaime following in her wake. As expected, she found her mother and Podrick sat behind the desk pouring over the large accounts book, discussing today's issues in hushed voices.

That all changed the instant Ser Jaime entered the room. Both of them leapt to their feet; Catelyn's mother looked shocked and confused, while Podrick's usually placid demeanour was overcome by a long cultivated rage. Steeling herself for a fight, Catelyn made her move. "Mother, Podrick," she began, trying to take charge of the situation. "I would like to introduce my candidate for the role of Master at Arms at Evenfall Hall. Ser Jaime Lannister is a..."

Catelyn had thought her mother would be the one to answer, but instead it was Podrick, looking righteously furious. "We know who Jaime Lannister is, better than you do, Catelyn. There is nothing you can do to persuade me that _this_ is a good idea."

That Podrick would not even listen to her proposal got under Catelyn's skin almost immediately, and she found herself biting back. "I volunteered to find someone qualified for the job, and I have _found_ someone. Ser Jaime is amply qualified. He has fought in battles..."

"Don't tell me what battles he has fought in, Cat!" spat Podrick, his voice rising with every word. "I _know_ what battles he has fought in, and it does not matter, because I also know what he thinks loyalty is worth!"

Angrily folding her arms across her chest, Catelyn bit back. She wanted to go for something rational or thought-provoking, but instead she was just overrun by a flood of emotion. "But _I_ do not know him at all, and he is my father! And I deserve to know my father! So why can't you just let him stay as Master of Arms, and then I could have a chance!"

"And whose fault is it that you don't know him?" thundered Podrick, pointing an accusatory finger at Ser Jaime. "It is not mine, or your mother's, or yours, but _his._ He made his bed. He can lay in it for all I care!"

"Podrick! I--"

Catelyn went to say something further, something cutting, but her mother raised a hand, pulling both Catelyn and the castellan out of the mounting argument and back into the world of polite courtesy Brienne of Tarth venerated. Catelyn had thought it would be because the Evenstar did not want fighting in her rooms, but when she got a closer look, she realised that was not the case. After all, in the time that she and Podrick had been been sniping backwards and forwards, her mother and father had been looking quite intently into each other's eyes, clearly communicating things that could not be said in mere words.

"I am sorry, Lady Brienne," Ser Jaime said eventually, his voice rough. "Lady Catelyn told me that you wished to speak with me, but I can see where I am not wanted. I thank you for seeing me and... I will be going now. I was wrong to think I could come back here and try to find a place. Podrick is right. There is no place for me here. I will make sure to be off your island as soon as possible."

 _No, no, no!_ thought Catelyn angrily, furious that her plan was now in tatters around her feet, partly due to the easy surrender of Jaime Lannister. _Why could he not be sensible for five minutes and just listen?_

"No! Wait!" called Catelyn, spinning around to grab his should just in time. "You cannot leave! You are my father!"

Ser Jaime Lannister's eyes flashed, his expression dangerous and dark. There was pain there, but also something else. Perhaps he was seeing Joanna in Catelyn's stead. "You don't want me as a father, Catelyn. I do no one any good being their father."

Catelyn did not have an adequate response to that, so had nothing to say that would hold him back. Consequently, Ser Jaime was able to turn away from her and march to the door, his stance unyielding and upright where it had been open and welcoming as he entered the room. Catelyn wanted to scream at him to stay back, to stay here, to not leave her, but the words were unable to leave her mouth in the face of her perplexed anger.

It took her mother to end his flight.

"Jaime," she said, her voice soft. "Are you really such a coward?"

Ser Jaime froze, his hand inches from the door handle, before he turned back to look at the Evenstar. "I do not think I am, wench. No."

"Then why are you running away?"

That suggestion seemed to wound him, like a fast flesh-wound made with a rapier. "I am not running away," he said firmly. "Ser Podrick does not want me here. _You_ do not want me here."

For some reason, the Evenstar let out a bitter _tsk_ at that assumption. Perhaps she thought it amusing that Jaime Lannister believed she did not want him here. "Pod is the castellan of Evenfall Hall and therefore answerable to me. If I want you to stay, he will let you stay."

Podrick opened his mouth as if to object, but Catelyn's mother held up a hand to silence him. Catelyn could have laughed.

 _Is my mother really considering this proposition?_ she wondered.

Flicking his eyes from Podrick to Catelyn's mother, Ser Jaime stepped forward, tentatively testing the ground. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Once I did," she said, clearly recalling some long ago memory that pained her, "but you never wanted to. You were more interested in dying."

Ser Jaime let out a splutter of indignation. "Dying?"

"Yes," nodded the Evenstar, her blue eyes wide. "Dying. You told me yourself that you wanted to die by my side with a sword in your hand protecting Winterfell, and when that did not work you decided to try being buried by a pile of bricks in King's Landing. It was only Tyrion's ingenious plan that prevented that from happening."

Ser Jaime clearly found it difficult to respond to that, so kept opening and closing his mouth around unsaid words. "I... you... we..."

Almost smiling at his baffled expression, Brienne of Tarth moved around the desk so she could appraise him properly and he almost seemed to wilt in her majestic presence. "Life has not been kind to you, Jaime, and perhaps its greatest jape is not letting you move to the great beyond when you hungered for it more than anything. Not when you were almost named a traitor for killing the Mad King. Not when your blood sang as you duelled with death on that bridge long ago. Not when you charged a dragon. Not when the dead threw themselves at the walls of Winterfell. Not when Daenerys burned King's Landing down, and not after your daughter Joanna died in your arms."

Catelyn turned to her father, expecting him to argue back, but instead his expression was impassive. Clearly, he had been pushed back into a stunned silence. Perhaps he thought the Evenstar was telling the truth.

"In coming here, you have brought me that medicine from Marahai," said Catelyn's mother, taking another step forward. "Although it will not save me forever, I feel much better than I did, and I am sure it will give me time with my daughter, my friends, and my people that I would not have otherwise had, so I thank you for that."

Ser Jaime blushed at her gratitude, as sweet and pink as a rose. "I want you to _live,_ wench."

"And I want _you_ to live," replied the Evenstar, her eyes as bright as the star whose name she bore. "Just as I wanted you to take a chance on life and live all those years ago in Winterfell's courtyard. But you were never one to take the difficult option. Coming north. Facing the dead. Returning to your sister."

A flash of anger crossed Ser Jaime's face. "I did those things because they were _honourable."_

"No, you did not," replied Brienne, her tone almost ethereal. "You did them because dying is easy, living is harder."

At her pronouncement, Ser Jaime furrowed his brow. "I don't..."

"Staying with me at Winterfell, marrying me, being a father to our daughter would have been the hard thing to do, because it would have meant being better than you ever allowed yourself to be. Running away with Joanna in the middle of the night rather than facing your sister was a surrender. And leaving now, right on the cusp of something that could be the light of your twilight years, would be the easy thing to do."

"How can you describe those decisions as easy?" asked Ser Jaime, stammering against the force of her argument. "None of them were easy... none of them..."

"I did not say the _decisions_ were easy, merely the choices you made. Don't you see?" proclaimed Catelyn's mother, pacing further forward so if she had so wished to, she could have reached out and touched him. "Now the hard choice is staying and living for your daughter. I am aware I am running out of time, but I fight for my life every single day, because I want to spend all the time I possibly can here. I have had much time over the last few weeks to think, and Catelyn is right. You are her father and she deserves the right to know you. So, if you so wish, I will offer you the role of Master of Arms so you can choose to live."

Catelyn turned to her father, gazing at him imploringly. However, he was too busy staring at the Evenstar, as if watching her was blinding him. "I would be honoured," he said, his voice thick, "to serve under you once again."

Even though that blush returned to her cheeks, Brienne of Tarth would not let herself be cowed. "Come with me, Ser Jaime," said the Evenstar, making the most of her full imposing height. "We shall talk on this matter further. I wish to see how well suited you are to such a role."

His face brightening at the offer, Jaime got to his feet in imitation, totally ignoring the fact that Podrick was still scowling at him. "Of course, my lady," Ser Jaime said graciously, sweeping his arm out in a courteous gesture. "Lead and I will follow."

Catelyn knew her mother well enough to trace the slight blush that coloured her cheeks as she signalled towards the door that led to her private chambers. Noting what she was doing, Podrick made to follow, but the Evenstar held up her hand. "Pod, could you please go and see the armourer? If we are to create some sort of island guard, the burden will be on us see they are properly armed."

Knowing better than to argue, at her instruction, Podrick gave the Evenstar a stiff bow, before turning on his heel and stalking from the room, clearly none too pleased with this turn of events. In contrast, Catelyn could barely hide her smug satisfied grin as she fell into line behind her father. However, it was not to be. Turning around to face her, Brienne of Tarth fixed her daughter with an imperious stare.

"Catelyn, I wish to speak to Ser Jaime in private."

Annoyed, Catelyn gave her mother a sullen pout. "But it was my idea!"

"That does not matter," said the Evenstar, getting back some of her old authority now she was feeling better. "There other things to consider than whether Ser Jaime is qualified for the role, and we need to speak about them. Just the two of us."

Catelyn went to object again, but then she saw Ser Jaime's expression; it was soft, almost imploring. Consequently, she bit back what she was going to say in favour of plastering a saccharine smile across her face.

"Fine," she chirped, keeping her voice sweet and charming. "I will be happy for the two of you to discuss this matter further... _alone_. I will be in my chamber if you need me."

As both her mother and father went an embarrassed red at that comment, Catelyn could barely stop herself from giggling, and then following Podrick in marching out of the room.

It felt like a victory.

* * *

After hours of pointedly not trying to think of what her parents were discussing, Catelyn found she was tired, so she retired to her chamber early. For the first time since she had lost her hand, she was feeling buoyant. There was now the distinct possibility that she could learn what it was like to have a father. Yes, that would mean that both Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth would have to confront what they once were to each other, but Catelyn prayed to the Seven that they could try for the daughter they shared, if not for each other.

Once she was back in her room, Catelyn struggled into her night dress and then went to brush her long hair, which hung in ringlets to her waist. She had once wondered where she had got them from, but now it was clear. Catelyn of Tarth wore a crown of Lannister gold because she was of the blood of Lann the Clever.

Daughter of the Kingslayer. The Lion of Lannister.

_Jaime._

Brushing her hair, she wandered over to the window, humming to herself. Looking out, she could see the sun, red and heavy, setting over the horizon. Although the light was growing dimmer by the second, Catelyn still had a clear view of the private herb garden that only she and her mother had access to from their quarters. Ever since her mother had started taking the medicine from Marahai, Catelyn had often seen the Evenstar walking around the garden, buoyed up by increased energy and generally feeling better. Therefore, Catelyn was not too surprised to see her walking along, running her fingers over the flowers.

What _was_ surprising, however, was who was with her.

In the corner of the garden, veiled by a shadow, was her father. The pair of them were whispering together, so their faces were close to one another, and in his hand was a small bunch of what looked like forget-me-nots. Her mother's fingers were balanced gently on the inside of his wrist, as if she were thinking of taking them from him. Catelyn thought it quite strange; for two people who had carefully locked away their feelings for one another for over seventeen years, they had an easy physical intimacy that seemed unshakeable.

As her mother looked deeply into his eyes, Catelyn's father turned his hand in such a way that he presented the flowers to the Evenstar. Even in the poor light, Catelyn could see her mother was blushing.

"It's yours," he said, his voice carrying in the small space due to being laden with emotion. "It has always been yours."

Although she had heard only a tiny sliver of this conversation, Catelyn felt like she should not hear any more of it. Her questions had largely been answered, so she felt she was not entitled to intrude into their intimacy like some kind of nosy magpie, even as she watched her mother take the flowers from his outstretched hand.

Consequently, Catelyn moved away from her window, hope swelling in her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this sometimes depressing melodrama, please leave a comment or kudos. I love them!
> 
> PS. Yes, this has a Hamilton quote in it!
> 
> PPS. I saw someone on Twitter saying that Maya Hawke was their perfect Catelyn, and now I can't unsee it.


	14. The Hand of the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another visitor arrives on Tarth...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for coming back! As you may have noticed, I have put a final chapter count on this story but, depending on how it pans out, it might go up one more. This chapter contains a few subtle references to other fics I have written, and a slightly salty disembowelling of an example of show canon that I thought was especially stupid.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The new Master at Arms of Evenfall Hall was housed in Ser Reginald's old rooms, and Catelyn thought they must have been the grandest Jaime Lannister had seen since he left King's Landing and rode north all those years ago. While the arrangements were being made, Catelyn heard her mother instruct Pod quite firmly on the finer details; although she pretended otherwise, it was clear she cared very much that Ser Jaime was suitably housed.

"Make sure the hearth is cleaned out, and a supply of wood is brought up. Although Ser Jaime does not like his fire _too_ warm, it is important that he has the supplies to make the chamber hotter... should he wish to."

"No scarlet or crimson anywhere in that room, please. I don't want him reminded of anything that might make him remember sad things."

"If Ser Jaime wishes to have dinner in his chamber, he is more than welcome. He does not have to eat with the rest of us in the Great Hall... if it would... if he does _not_ wish to."

Yet, Ser Jaime did eat with them. Bearing the new name _Ser Jaime Lefford,_ Jaime Lannister he took a seat at the end of the high table befitting his new status. Admittedly, he did not sit anywhere near Podrick or Catelyn's mother - the former was still not entirely comfortable with the idea of the Kingslayer living in the castle, while the latter was clearly unsure how best to deal with the unfolding situation - but at least he was present. Every day without fail, Ser Jaime would eat his meal in silence, before withdrawing to the Evenstar's chambers with his lady and the castellan to discuss the plans for managing Tarth.

Sometimes Catelyn went with them. Sometimes she did not.

In light of this change of circumstances, Catelyn was so happy she wanted to sing. Her mother and father were in the same castle once again, and even though most of their conversations were stiff and formal, it meant their daughter had finally been afforded the chance to get to know the man who had sired her. Jaime Lannister. _Kingslayer._ Considering everything that had passed, Catelyn soon agreed with her mother, because once she stacked his reputation against the man in front of her, she discovered that Ser Jaime was not a monster, not a hero, not a legend.

Just a man. A normal man.

Yet, now the dust had settled, Catelyn found it very difficult to approach him. Of course he was kind, especially when it came to doing anything with her only hand, but there seemed something strangely servile about the gestures he made towards her. Although she did not know how to react, Catelyn thought his manner fit wider patterns as, during the days, Ser Jaime would dedicate himself to his duties as new Master at Arms, so it meant he spent much time journeying around Tarth, searching for men to join the new Island Guard. In the evenings, he would eat in the Great Hall, fulfil his role as Master at Arms, and then afterwards retire to his new chamber.

Invisible. Alone. A servant not a family member.

Sometimes, Catelyn thought to follow him. The few conversations they had had together so far had been marred by long held questions and desired answers. Catelyn did not want to take part in that parrying dance anymore; she just wanted to find an easy way to know her father, just as Joanna must have known him.

 _I am his daughter too,_ Catelyn thought. _It is what I deserve._

Therefore, after several weeks of walking half-heartedly to the Master at Arms chambers before turning away in terror, Catelyn eventually found the courage to take what she thought she was owed. As it was after dinner and his meeting with the Evenstar, she thought Ser Jaime would be getting ready for bed, so she expected to find him in his chamber. However, that assumption would prove to be wrong, as when she arrived, she found the door ajar and the room in darkness, apart from the single ray of moonlight entering through an open window.

"Hello?" Catelyn said into the silence as she crossed over the threshold. "Ser Jaime?"

Not only was it quiet, but it was nearly empty and the only discernible colour inside were the few shirts hanging in his sparsely populated wardrobe. It was clear he was a man who had been brought up with servants, as the few items he owned were strewn around the chamber; his belt, the new riding boots Catelyn's mother had provided him with, and a small well-thumbed copy of _The Song of Joramun._ Catelyn could well remember how it started - _Aegon the king, our great emperor, has been in Westeros for seven full years... -_ and that it was the story of daring knights and beautiful ladies. She was surprised that it was the kind of story Jaime Lannister liked.

It was only when she became lost to the thought of what a knight Ser Jaime might have once been that Catelyn noticed something significant about the near empty room. There was no sword in sight.

 _Oh gods,_ she thought, panicked, as her heart leapt into his throat. _Has he left? Has he up and left and taken his sword with him? No knight goes anywhere without their sword, after all._

Dropping her father's copy of _The Song of Joramun,_ Catelyn turned on her heel and dashed across the castle. She had to go and see her mother. If there was anyone who could stop Ser Jaime leaving it was her, even if the Evenstar had to poke at the guilt he wore around his shoulders like a cloak. However, Catelyn soon discovered there was no need for such drastic measures, as when she arrived at the bolted door of her mother's chamber, she found Ser Jaime outside. Curled up in a ball and wrapped in his travelling cloak, in the silver moonlight he almost looked peaceful. Kneeling down beside him, Catelyn tried to shake him awake. At first, she did it wordlessly, because she did not know what to call him. Jaime? _Ser_ Jaime? Father? Knowing the last was far too intimate, Catelyn ended up just shaking him harder, fearing what would happen if she already had to give their relationship a name.

After a few more shoves, her father opened his eyes, bleary and unfocussed in the moonlight. "Jo?" he asked stupidly. "Joanna?" At the evocation of that ghost, Catelyn stopped touching him at once and was tremendously glad that he could not see her properly in the darkness. She was far too proud for that.

It took a little while for Ser Jaime to get his bearings, but when he did he sat up and pulled his cloak tightly around himself. "Oh, Lady Catelyn. It is you," he mumbled, not quite meeting her eye.

Perhaps he did not want to look at a shadow.

"You can call me Catelyn, you know," she said gently, trying to prize him open like a clam. "Or Cat. My mother calls me Cat. As does Podrick... and Ty."

"Catelyn," he replied pointedly. "What are you doing here? It is the middle of the night."

Not wanting to be fobbed off with a distraction technique, Catelyn narrowed her eyes at him. "I could ask you the same question. Why are you laying outside my mother's chamber like a kicked dog?"

Then it was Ser Jaime's turn to feel thankful for the darkness, because Catelyn could have sworn his face went a little red. "I swore my sword to her," he began, his tone strained. "I am only doing my duty."

Catelyn let out a little _tsk_ sound, mostly because she thought a Master at Arms' duty was to be asleep in his bed at this time of night, not curled up on the floor, less than a bodyguard. Ser Jaime seemed irked by the sound, however.

"Oh!" he interjected, affronted. "Are you now going to say I am a man who doesn't keep his word? Because that is what I am going to do, Catelyn. I am going to uphold my vows to her... even the ones she never knew I made."

"And what would they be?" asked Catelyn wearily, a little tired of old oaths and promises. She thought the future they could build more important.

"To stay," he said simply, his eyes misty. "To stay."

He clearly held that vow in regard, and it made Catelyn think. She could not help but wonder who he had made that promise too with varying effects; undoubtedly her mother, who had regretted his absence for years. Perhaps his sister, who he had been so set on dying with. But worst of all was Joanna, who he had stayed with right until the bitter end. Even though Catelyn knew Joanna had had a terrible death, she could not help but feel jealous.

 _I deserve that oath too,_ thought Catelyn, _I am his daughter too._

"Then why don't you stay in your bed? You are the Master at Arms. It is fitting," said Catelyn, using her best imperious tone.

When Jaime replied, his tone was surprisingly soft. "Because I want penance, and I cannot get penance on a feather bed."

* * *

Having not been able to persuade Ser Jaime to return to his bed, Catelyn went back to her own, her mind reeling. She wanted to give her father the forgiveness he craved more than anything, mostly because she felt as if she could not know him properly while he continued to shroud himself in grief over things he did long ago. How could such a man laugh, share stories of his youth, or ask his only living child question about herself when he was armoured in sadness and remorse? The problem was, Catelyn could not give him the absolution he sought. Only Brienne of Tarth could yet every time Catelyn saw her mother and father communicate, the second she approached they would step away from one another and close their mouths.

Were they hiding from her? Or from each other?

In her desperation to make sense of the situation, when Ser Jaime went down to town to begin work on training the new Island Guard, Catelyn would follow as light of foot as a ghost. Some days she went alone, but that day she took Ty with her.

"Ty," she said, irritated, "if you keep talking this loudly about Daeron the First, my father will spot us."

Not taking her annoyance well, Ty pouted at Catelyn. "Would that be such a bad thing? You want to talk to him, don't you?"

"Yes, but on my terms!" she huffed, folding her arm across her chest.

They spent the rest of the day following him; from house to house, to the training yard, and along the road to Port Town. During every single moment he was dedicated to his task - training the rag-tag collection of recruits he had rustled up for the Island Guard - meaning that he never noticed either Catelyn or her impish friend, even when they were cantering behind him on their horses.

Eventually, in the late afternoon, Ser Jaime had his horse saddled to return to Evenfall Hall. Ty made some noise about the need to follow, but Catelyn hushed him. "No. We should stay down in town. Let's discover what people think of Ser Jaime Lefford."

To Cat's surprise, no one had a bad word to say about him. The head of Port Town's City Guard said that the new Master at Arms had listened concernedly about his worries surrounding recruiting men for both the City Guard and the Island Guard simultaneously, while Mistress Jeyne at the Blue Pig told Catelyn about how Ser Jaime was a polite and tidy guest at her inn. One girl at the well thought him handsome and a youth who had just been recruited for the Island Guard was effusive about how Ser Jaime had taught him how to fight with his left hand.

Last of all, Catelyn and Ty went down to the harbour, scouting for clues.

"Why would we come here?" moaned Ty, dragging his feet as he walked beside Cat. "I am hungry. I want to go back for dinner."

"I just want to talk to a couple of the sailors, see what they thought of Ser Jaime. Then we will go back, I promise. And we will definitely be home before dark." At the reminder of their run in with Tam Stoker, Ty went a little pale, but being the brave knight that he was, he fell in line behind Catelyn as she went marching towards the harbour, determined to accomplish her mission.

However, her plan was completely ruined by the fact everyone at the harbour was distracted by a tall, proud ship that had just docked. The sails bore the banner of House Stark's direwolf, but the elegant design of the hull showed Catelyn that this vessel was not from the North itself, but King's Landing. Drawing close, Catelyn noticed that a small party had just disembarked, complete with horses for themselves and their small retinue of servants. There was enough excitement surrounding the identity of the mystery visitors, that it did not take Catelyn long to identify their honoured guest.

"Ty!" she gasped, grabbing his hand. "It is the Hand of the King! Tyrion Lannister."

Ty gawped up at her with big eyes. "Your uncle?"

Not wasting time answering his question, Catelyn went running towards the party, Ty trailing in her wake. She knew she should be calmer about her uncle's visit, and also knew that the implementation of the plan that was quickly forming in her mind would only be stirring the pot, but the mischief maker who resided in Catelyn's heart could not help but rear her ugly head. Tyrion had been one of those people who had played games with her over the identity of her father, after all. Surely it was only right she had a little fun.

"Tyrion!" she cried when she finally reached him. "What are you doing here?"

The little man jumped at the sound of his name, but when he spun around and got a good look at her, he broke into an affectionate smile. "Lady Catelyn, Tyrion Payne! How lovely to see you both!"

"You too!" said Ty excitedly, pulling his namesake in for a quick hug. The Hand of the King just laughed, his badge sticking into Ty's shirt.

As Tyrion stepped back, he marvelled at Podrick's son. "My, my, you have grown, my boy... and Lady Catelyn. You are more beautiful than ever; more beautiful than my sister once was, I dare say, and she was the greatest beauty of her age, or so the singers claim."

 _That's possibly because I am her niece, not that you ever told me,_ thought Catelyn tartly, even as she continued to keep a saccharine smile plastered on her face.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, genuinely curious in spite of the slightly evil plan that was brewing in her mind, as more of his servants began to unload his goods from the ship.

Tyrion shrugged. "Oh, I am just making my annual trip to Pentos slightly early this year. I thought I would stop in Tarth to visit you all."

 _Pentos._ They had all run into the word quicker than Catelyn thought they would. Even so, she made sure she was not on the back foot and decided to be aggressive. "Oh, do you know someone in Pentos?"

Rather unsurprisingly, Tyrion did not show a moment of disquiet, and waved her question away with one hand. "Oh no. It is purely business. King Bran thinks it will be beneficial to open up trade routes with Essos. Tarth would even benefit, I imagine."

"Does he?" asked Catelyn sceptically. King Bran had always been known for being more esoteric than practical.

A knowing smile crossed Tyrion's face. "Well... _I_ thought it would be beneficial to open up trade routes with Essos."

Laughing, Catelyn was just about to press for more, when she was suddenly interrupted by a man jumping off the gangplank. "Tyrion, can we please get going? I need a shit and don't really want to do it on the poop deck."

Rolling his eyes, Tyrion turned to the man with the course turn of phrase who wore the gaudiest outfit Catelyn had ever seen. "Bronn, can you please be polite. We are in the presence of a lady."

At that, Bronn bowed jokingly to Catelyn. "Pleasure to see you, my lady. It has been many years."

"Yes," concurred Catelyn, stifling a grin. "I believe the last time we met, you still had Highgarden in your possession."

"Bloody bannerman," Bronn replied gruffly. "Apparently, they don't want an illiterate former sellsword as Lord Paramount. Still, at least I've still got Stokeworth through Lollys, so it is not all bad."

Catelyn remembered the story well. Bronn and the slightly dim Lady Lollys had been married after he had become Lord Paramount, falling back on an earlier engagement arranged by Queen Cersei. Surprisingly, Bronn took quite well to his simple wife, who never asked for much, and now the two of them lived together quite peacefully as Lord and Lady of her ancestral home.

"Well, enough of this small talk, I think," said Tyrion firmly, as Bronn made to continue on with the story of his life. "Why don't you lead the way to Evenfall Hall, my lady, and tell us what has been going on in my absence?"

At that firm suggestion, Catelyn went to smile and lead the party away from the harbour, but Ty had other ideas. "You will never guess who our new Master at Arms is!" squawked Ty, like the excitable child he was. "It is Ser Jaime--"

"Lefford," interjected Catelyn swiftly, while fixing Ty with an angry look. "He is a hedge knight from the Stormlands come to reclaim his honour. Ty and I thought you might know him from the war days."

Tyrion furrowed his brow. "I don't believe so. Do you know anyone by that name, Bronn?"

"Nah," replied Bronn casually. "The only Jaime I know was your damn brother, who was a big enough fool to--"

"Alright, enough of that," said Tyrion sharply. "Lady Catelyn, lead the way."

Sensing that Bronn had been about to regale her with a story of Ser Jaime Lannister, Catelyn was disappointed, but managed to keep her rigid smile stuck on her face as she led the Hand of the King and his retinue up to Evenfall Hall. It was only when Ty had to help Cat onto her horse that Tyrion noticed her hand.

"Lady Cat!" he gawped, when he spotted the stump. "What in seven hells happened?"

Not wanting to talk about, she tried to be breezy about it. "Oh... just a run in with some outlaws. I am lucky I just lost my hand and not my life."

While Tyrion looked appalled, Bronn let out a little laugh. "You should get yourself a nice golden hand made, Lannister style. I think it served your f--"

There was evidentially no way Tyrion was going to let Bronn finish that sentence, as he cut across him, quick and true. "What Bronn is trying to say is that my brother had a golden hand. It did not replace what he had lost, but he felt it served him well."

Having never seen Ser Jaime wear anything approaching a fake hand, Catelyn felt a little sceptical about that statement. "Oh yes. The Kingslayer's golden hand..."

"Jaime," corrected Tyrion quickly, his cheeks reddening.

 _Ah,_ thought Catelyn. _It seems secrets die hard._

"I believe you gave it to my mother, didn't you?" asked Catelyn, trying to sound casual.

The Hand of the King reddened even further. "Yes. I did."

"Why?"

Suddenly, Tyrion sighed in a similar way to how Catelyn's mother and father did; full of old secrets and lies. "I thought she would want it."

As she now had all the information as to _why_ Brienne of Tarth might want Jaime Lannister's golden hand - as a relic, so she could mourn him - Catelyn span the conversation on its head, not wanting to push Tyrion too far while they were still some way from Evenfall Hall. "There is a lot of talk of your siblings today," said Catelyn, trying to draw Tyrion down a certain path. "Why would that be?"

At her question, Tyrion sighed again. "Sometimes, one gets nostalgic. Even for the dark days."

* * *

When the party eventually arrived back at Evenfall Hall, Catelyn wanted to ensure that the Hand of the King's small group of retainers and servants were dealt with by the Evenstar's people, so she could whisk him away to see her mother before anyone was any the wiser. Unfortunately, however, she had not anticipated that Podrick would be at the gate, waiting for Cat and Ty to return home.

"Catelyn! Ty!" he chided, the second he saw them. "What are you doing out so late? After what happened recently, we nearly sent a search party out for you!"

Ty had the good grace to look a little contrite, before he gestured towards the guests. "I am sorry, Da, but we got distracted! Lord Tyrion has arrived, and he has brought Bronn with him!"

"Podrick Payne!" laughed Bronn suddenly, slapping the former squire on the back. "How is that magic cock of yours?"

Blushing furiously, Podrick tried to shove the sellsword-turned-Lord-Paramount-turned-small-castle-holder off. "I am quite well."

"I didn't ask if you were well," grinned Bronn. "I asked if your--"

"I am sorry for my companion, his manners have not improved over the years," smiled Tyrion as he slid off his horse, gazing at his former squire with an easy familiarity. "Hello Pod, how are you doing?"

Seemingly piecing together what an absolutely glorious disaster this could all be as Tyrion dusted himself down, Pod's eyes went very wide as he started stammering. "I... you... we..."

"What he means to say," interjected Catelyn suddenly, stopping Podrick from ruining her plan, "is that he is very well and would just _love_ for you to come through to see my mother. She is also doing much better now... she is taking some rare medicine from Marahai... and would be simply _thrilled_ that the two of you are here."

At Catelyn's sickly sweet tone, Podrick snapped his head round, his expression suddenly warning. "I don't think that is a good idea, Cat. Your mother is currently in a meeting with the _Master at Arms_ in her chamber. I am not sure now is the right..."

"Oh, excellent!" cooed Catelyn, as Podrick's face fell. "I am sure Tyrion and Bronn would be so _happy_ to meet our new Master at Arms. I am sure we will all have _lots_ to talk about."

"Catelyn..." began Podrick, his tone sharp.

However, to Catelyn's immense relief, Tyrion cut across him. "Oh Pod, I really would love to see Ser Brienne. It has been so long. Why don't you lead the way Cat?"

Knowing he had little choice, Podrick stepped aside and allowed Cat to march forward, Tyrion, Ty, and Bronn in her wake. Clearly wanting to keep a lid on proceedings, Podrick fell into line after them, but Catelyn made sure he stayed silent by babbling on and on and _on_ about anything and everything as they made their way up to her mother's chambers.

"Oh yes, don't you think the stained glass window is beautiful? My grandfather had it installed, and it tells the tale of Galladon of Morne, the Perfect Knight..."

"That's cherry pie you can smell baking. I think Gertie the cook wants to serve some for dinner tonight. You are more than welcome to partake after we have seen mother."

"Oh yes, poor Ser Reginald died of tired bones. But we have a new Master at Arms now, and I believe you will be most happy to see him."

"Really?" asked Tyrion curiously as they reached the door to her mother's chambers.

"Of course," replied Catelyn, grinning at him in a way that betrayed her excitement. "Why don't you come in?"

With that, Catelyn pushed the door open and went inside, Tyrion, Ty, Bronn, and Podrick all barrelling in behind her. Bronn and Tyrion partook in a collective intake of breath at what they saw before them. Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth were sitting behind the Evenstar's desk and clearly had been talking quietly to one another before they were rudely interrupted, as their heads were quite close. Even closer were their hands, as Ser Jaime's was rested next to Catelyn's mother's, so their little fingers were entwined. At the sound of their entry, both Catelyn's mother and father looked up in unison, and Catelyn could not help that there was something strangely reflexive about it; they moved as one. That feeling only increased when the two of them sprang apart the second Catelyn trumpeted their new arrivals.

They really could not abide anyone observing them communicating in a way beyond the polite.

"Mother, Ser Jaime! Tyrion and Bronn are here!"

The resultant silence could have been cut with a knife. Podrick was cringing apologetically, while Ty worried at his lip. Catelyn's mother had a hand pressed to her chest, as if it were all too much for her, and Ser Jaime's mouth had dropped open. If her parents looked shocked, it appeared as if Tyrion had seen a ghost, as he had gone white as a sheet. Only Bronn found the wherewithal to make a move. Gazing goggle-eyed at Ser Jaime, a grin danced across his lips.

"My, my, my. It's Jaime fucking Lannister!" he exclaimed, a laugh under his tongue. "Aren't you meant to be dead? A bloody great building fell on you, didn't it?"

At Bronn's questions, Ser Jaime got to his feet, seemingly carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders; he was obviously desperate to unburden himself. "Yes, I am," he concurred, going quite pale. "It's good to see you Bronn... Tyrion."

In spite of his name having been mentioned, the Hand of the King continued to appear haunted, so Ser Jaime did nothing. With every passing moment, the tension built, and it gave Catelyn the chance to play gracious host and direct the course of the coming conversation.

"Oh yes, I quite forgot to mention," smiled Cat, as Tyrion's eyes went wider and wider the longer he stared at his brother. "Uncle Tyrion, my _father_ is here."

At that word - _father_ \- the Hand of the King finally turned his stare away from his long lost brother to look up at Catelyn. For a moment, she thought she saw guilt in his eyes.

"Oh."

It was all he had to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As ever, please leave comments and kudos. I love each and every one!


	15. Always Joanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion, Brienne, Jaime, and Catelyn talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this has taken so long. With the global pandemic going on, I did not feel like writing angsty-angst. This chapter was very tough, so please tell me what you think of it in the comments. I would love to know, and every word of encouragement makes me a better writer!

As Catelyn continued to smile at Tyrion - saccharine sweet - the silence went on and on and _on._ If she was of a nervous disposition, she would have almost found it too much, but luckily, Catelyn of Tarth was made of sterner stuff.

Unfortunately, it did not seem that Podrick had the same level of tolerance for cringing.

"Right, Ty," he said loudly, his face going a deep red. "Shall we go and get some wine and food for our guests?"

Ty flinched; he clearly wanted to see the drama. "But Da..." he whined, as he looked from Tyrion to Jaime to Brienne to Catelyn and back again.

"Now!" ordered Podrick, clearly not in a mood to be trifled with. Huffing in disappointment, Ty followed his father's order and permitted himself to be shepherded out of the room. Once Ty was gone, Podrick turned to Bronn. "I think we should go and get some drinks, don't you?"

The sellsword looked as reluctant as the twelve-year-old to go, but once he received a sharp nod from Tyrion, he let out a dramatic sigh and turned towards the door. "Alright, but you should all join me for a drink once you have aired all your dirty laundry, you bastards," he said, pointing to Tyrion, Ser Jaime, and Catelyn's mother in turn.

Although his face was alight with amusement, no one laughed, so Bronn took his leave with a tired eye roll, Podrick trailing in his wake. Their absence left Catelyn all alone with the architects of her fate; her father, her mother, and the man who had written their story. The silence was as sharp as a knife in her belly. Cutting and deep, it threatened to tear apart the very fabric of herself. Seeing the way her uncle, mother, and father were staring at her, it also seemed to be cutting at the fragile bonds that had been slowly stitching themselves back together over the recent weeks. Therefore, looking for a way to control this unfurling situation, Catelyn started talking, barely checking the words before they came tumbling out of her mouth.

"I suppose it has been a while since you have seen your brother, Lord Hand, and the two of you must want to reminisce..."

Tyrion, however, was not in the mood for listening to Catelyn's babbling, so he turned to the Evenstar, his mismatched eyes wide. "Why didn't you tell me he was here?"

In spite of the fact she was riven with sickness, it was clear that Catelyn's mother had no truck with his attempt to bully her, so she snapped back. "Why didn't you tell me he was _alive?"_

"I didn't know he _was_ alive," said Tyrion swiftly, clearly wanting to cover over his past decisions. "I have not seen him for fifteen years. The last time I saw him Joanna was babe sucking at her wet nurse's teat."

Catelyn flinched. There she was again. Joanna. In spite of the fact she had died a world away, Catelyn could still hear the soft pad of her sister's feet against the floor. It seemed her father could too, as at the mention of his daughter's name, he blanched white. "It's been a long time," he said softly, his voice cracking. Catelyn thought if he was asked any more questions, there was a danger he would crumble. Thankfully, the Evenstar went to change the subject.

"Fifteen years," she mused, her blue eyes trained on Tyrion. "Fifteen years and you went to Pentos all the time, and yet you never told me you were looking for Jaime."

If Tyrion Lannister was capable of feeling ashamed of himself, he did not show it. Instead, he raised his gaze and met the Evenstar's stare with his own mismatched one. "They are my brother and sister."

"He is my... my daughter's father," snapped Catelyn's mother, before suddenly becoming flustered and trailing off. As she blushed rose red, Ser Jaime looked at her, and Catelyn saw a thousand unsaid things and silenced secrets. She only wished that he trusted her enough to tell her them.

Tyrion sighed, heavy and deep. "I know he is, but my primary concern was making sure they were safe. They had a young daughter, they had..."

" _I_ had a young daughter," parried Brienne quickly, not letting Tyrion lay out the sob story Ser Jaime had already soliloquised on at some lengths, "who had no answers, who was led to believe her father was dead... because of _you._ "

Obviously effected by the Evenstar's words, Tyrion looked at Catelyn, taking in every familiar Lannister feature in one fell swoop. Under his gaze, she felt strangely watched and as if the Hand was weighed her heart, searching for her worth against that of another.

A ghost in a girl's form. _Joanna._

Catelyn saw the moment Tyrion made his decision when he looked away from her and back towards her father, back towards the Kingslayer. "It was better that way," he said, every word buttressed with unvoiced guilt. "I know what he did to you, Brienne... that he chose our sister over you, that he did not care for anything but Cersei. I thought it better he stayed dead... better the past be buried. And Jaime... I did not tell you about Catelyn because I did not want you to be haunted by why might have been if you had taken the other road."

At Tyrion's reasoning, Catelyn shot a quick glance at her father and was surprised to discover his face was blank. Perhaps he could not deny that all he had cared for was his sister and their bastard child.

_Joanna._

Her mother did not seem to notice his impassive expression, however. "That was not your choice to make," replied Brienne, her jaw jutting forward in her obstinacy. "That they were alive was a threat to the new regime, let alone the fact that Jaime was my... my..."

Once more she trailed off at putting a descriptor to what she felt for him, a name to their feelings. And yet Catelyn knew precisely what it was - _love_ \- just by looking into her mother's eyes and see how haunted she was by him, even though Jaime Lannister standing beside her. Jaime seemed to see it too, because he reached out and brushed his hand against the Evenstar's fingers. As the air burned, Tyrion stared at them both more intently as that small piece of contact, as if finally seeing the cord tying the two of them together for the first time, yet not truly comprehending it.

On some level, Catelyn understood her uncle's confusion. Who could ever believe that Jaime Lannister may once have cared for Brienne of Tarth, after all?

Recovering himself from his momentary uncertainty, Tyrion tried to appear impassive, but Catelyn sensed there was a shadow behind his eyes. "Yet it was a choice I had to make. Me. Alone. It was I who freed Jaime from captivity, and I who provided the boat and the means of escape. After all that, how could I have told you that Jaime was alive? How could I have told you, when it was me who gave him a new life with _her,_ the woman he abandoned you for?"

"I did not abandon her for Cersei..." began Ser Jaime lamely, but Tyrion cut across him, anger in her eyes.

"Then why?" he asked, his tone growing heated. "You've talked some bullshit in your time, Jaime, but _I never cared about the innocents_ just about comes out on top. And why did you say it? Because you need to justify to yourself what you had done... for Cersei. Abandoning Brienne even though you were happy. Betraying the North, even though you had been forgiven for your past misdeeds. Forcing me to become a traitor to my Queen, in saving you and Cersei..."

At that statement, Ser Jaime slammed his fist down on the table. Catelyn had seemed him inflamed with emotion - annoyance, fear, _passion_ \- but never anger. Yet when he looked at his brother, her father's green eyes seemed to burn with wildfire.

"I did _not_ abandon Brienne for Cersei. I left her for Joanna."

At his brother's claim to a higher moral cause, Tyrion let out a huff of bitter laughter, which then melted into his delivery of his next sentence; biting and sarcastic. "Oh yes, of course. Your daughter. Joanna. You went to the Red Keep for _Joanna_. Funnily enough Jaime, I don't believe you."

Catelyn expected her father to answer that, given his repeated impassioned defence of Joanna's memory, but instead her mother did, her blue eyes narrowed. "Why don't you believe him?"

"This is a man who pushed a small boy out of a window for Cersei, who always took her side, who loved her more than anything, even when he knew what she was," retorted Tyrion, not wavering in his condemnation of his brother. "He had a chance of happiness at Winterfell but threw it all away for Cersei."

"For Joanna!" insisted Ser Jaime sharply, his own voice rising with every word. Even though the years had stolen much from Jaime Lannister, as he loomed over his brother, Catelyn could see some of the lion he had once been. "I went to Pentos to give Joanna a life away from King's Landing, with a mother and father who might be able to afford her some stability. Cersei ruined that dream, so I had to take Joanna somewhere else... somewhere safe."

"And where was that then?" asked Tyrion, stepping forward as he began to gesticulate over-exaggeratedly. "Tarth? So you could return to the woman you abandoned and your bastard?"

That word stung as hard as a slap, but it hurt Catelyn even more when her father did not seek to correct his brother.

Instead, he returned to Joanna.

"No, I did not come back here. I would not do that to Brienne, nor would I have done that to Joanna. By the Seven, I love them both. For all my faults, for all that you think I did her wrong, I _do_ love Brienne and I _do_ intend to stay with her until the end, to give my love in a way that is not selfish, or greedy, or insatiable. And Joanna deserved more than thinking she was the second best because she was not the child of the woman I adored."

 _Second best_. The phrase echoed around Catelyn's mind.

At his heartfelt declaration, the Evenstar reached across and took Ser Jaime's hand. Where before Catelyn would have loved to see such a tender gesture of the expression of what her mother felt for her father, it left her strangely unmoved. "Jaime has explained everything about Joanna to me... and we've talked," said the Evenstar firmly, her tone at odds with her wan face and weakening body. "He told me about his journey across the known world and his desire to take Joanna somewhere safe. It was like a quest, I think. Where once he protected Lady Sansa, then he shielded Joanna. He told me what she was like as a child; pretty, vivacious, charming. That she had her whole future ahead of her. That Jaime could only come back to me after she was gone is a testament to the reason that he left me; for Joanna. Always Joanna, never Cersei."

_Always Joanna._

_Joanna_...

_Joanna..._

_JOANNA..._

Everywhere she tuned it was all that Catelyn heard. Joanna. Not only did her father apparently see his lost daughter in his dreams, but when he went to talk to her mother in private, it was of Joanna. Catelyn had hoped that whatever secret conversations her parents had - which now meant they felt able to brush hands and share stolen glances - had included talking about her, their daughter, Catelyn of Tarth, and that one day, they would be able to share their secrets with her. However, now it was becoming rapidly clear they were speaking of Joanna.

Catelyn's sister's ghostly hand rested on Tyrion's shoulder. "She's dead?"

Swallowing a sarcastic answer, Catelyn looked at her father, whose eyes were overcome by the misty sadness he often wore when thinking of the only daughter he had ever cared for. "Yes... she is dead."

"How?" asked Tyrion, all anger washed away in light of his grief for the angel incarnate.

_Joanna. Always Joanna._

Ser Jaime sighed, as heavy as if he were carrying Joanna's coffin on his back. "We were short of coin, so I had to leave her in the care of a merchant in Lys while I captained a spice trader's ship. When I returned from my voyage, I found the merchant had played me false, as Joanna was living in a pillow house, abandoned, pregnant with his child. She died giving birth to her boy... and the babe followed soon after her."

His voice cracking on the final word - _her_ \- Ser Jaime began to weep, and suddenly all animosity was forgotten. Catelyn's mother, despite leaning on her cane, pulled him close and held him, while Tyrion bounded forward.

"Oh Jaime..."

"After I lost her, I realised I was full of all this love but had nowhere to put it," he cried, tears on his cheeks. "For years, Joanna had held my heart, but once she was gone, I had to return it to Brienne, to whom I had promised my soul many years ago. I failed Joanna, but I won't fail you, Brienne. I want to stay with you."

Even though she was weak, pale, and near emaciated with illness, Brienne of Tarth seemed a young girl full of the joys of a first love when he said those words. "You can stay, Jaime," she said breathlessly. "I think it is about time you stayed."

"I want to, more than anything," he declared, his smile rising like the sun across his face as he squeezed her hand. "You must know that I could not have come here while Joanna was alive; it would have been betraying her _and_ you. I did not want either of you to feel second best."

There it was again. Second best. The phrase caught in Catelyn's throat as Tyrion stepped forward, smiling up at his brother. As they looked at each other, Catelyn could feel the warm wave of connection, remembrance, and forgiveness washing over the two brothers. It even allowed Jaime to reach down and embrace Tyrion, as if they were two young boys again. Unfortunately, Catelyn did not feel a part of it. Instead, she was outside in the snow, peering through the window, watching as this newly made family huddled around the fire.

"And yet you feel no regret in making me feel second best," she said, the words escaping her before she could fully think them out.

The two brothers froze in each other's arms. Given their position and the suddenness of Catelyn's accusation, it took Ser Jaime a long time to answer her, as he needed to extend to his full height and fix her with that familiar green gaze.

"What?" he asked, as if he had never heard anything so preposterous.

Trapped under the stares of her mother, father, and her uncle, Catelyn thought she had little choice but to hunker down and prepare for the fight. "You heard me," she said, before repeating her accusation. "And yet you feel no regret in making me feel second best."

"Catelyn!" said her mother chidingly, as if her daughter were still a small child who could be reprimanded into behaving a certain way. "Don't be so rude."

"I am not being rude, because it is the truth," Catelyn snapped back, even as her father continued to gaze at her with those unreadable green eyes of his. "From the moment her name was mentioned, it was clear that I could never be as good as her!"

Tyrion looked up at her confusedly. "Who?"

"Joanna of course!" thundered Catelyn, thinking the answer should be obvious. That she had shouted the name - quick and sharp - silenced the three adults in the room and gave Catelyn room on the stage to do whatever she wanted with. "Ever since you have first arrived it has been Joanna, Joanna, Joanna! Her name is on your tongue when you are asleep, she is the reason you have been absent seventeen years, and you say I remind you of her. It makes me sick! I understand that you are grieving for her, but she is dead, I am alive, and I am your daughter too!"

Expecting her father to respond, Catelyn was therefore surprised when the Evenstar clapped back at her. "Cat! Grief is a complicated emotion and things are not so simple as that."

"That is all very well for you to say, because you can fall back on years of knowing him and of the love he once had for you. But me? He has never loved me. Seven hells, he did not even know I existed until a few weeks ago." At that truth, Tyrion at least had the good grace to appear a little guilty. "In my father's eyes, I might as well be nobody, because every time he looks at me sees Joanna. I am just a shadow."

Once she had finished, Catelyn turned to look at her father, hoping that he would console her. What she wanted more than anything was for Ser Jaime to say that he did not see her as Joanna's shadow, but as her own person. A person he wished to know and one day even love as a daughter. For a shining moment, Catelyn even thought he was going to say those wonderful things, as he held his hand up in a conciliatory manner.

Unfortunately, however, her father then made it worse.

"Joanna, that's not..."

Everybody froze in horror at his slip of the tongue and none more so than Catelyn herself. Unable to look at her mother or uncle's embarrassed face, her furious stare was only for Ser Jaime, the Kingslayer, the man who would not even give her the dignity of her own name.

"Catelyn," she said quietly, every word underlined with a simmering rage. "My name is Catelyn, and I am your child just as much as Joanna was. We are both your daughters and we are both your bastards, but unlike her, I am still alive, and you have the chance to know me."

Looking dejected and ashamed of himself, her father tried again. "Cat, I..."

"Do not call me that!" she hissed, quite forgetting that she had earlier requested that of him to try to invite herself into his confidence. "That is reserved for people who care about me, and you do not care about me."

At her accusation, Ser Jaime's mouth became a straight, white line and he gazed at her with sad eyes. "That is not true. I came to rescue you from Tam Stoker, I..."

"It is true," Catelyn declared, too angry to digest objections. "You don't care about me, because all you see is her. Always Joanna."

Ser Jaime had nothing more to say to that other than a few stuttering, aborted phrases. Catelyn's mother and Tyrion seemed equally as shell-shocked by her outburst and made no attempt to say anything. Consequently, Catelyn felt no shame in turning on her heel and walking away; out of the room, and out of her father's presence.

In doing so, she did not even leave him with her shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. Please consider leaving comments and kudos!


	16. Our Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn deals with the fallout from her argument with her father...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, you may have noticed I have upped the chapter count. I basically thought of a new scene that I wanted to include that I needed a little more space for. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

With tears streaming down her face, Catelyn dashed away from her mother's solar, across Evenfall Hall and to the safety of her own chambers. Once there, she slammed the door hard and locked it firmly, wanting to keep the world at bay. It was almost too much. Hiccupping as her tears started to choke her, she threw herself under her covers and let her sadness and grief wash her away.

 _He called me Joanna,_ she thought. _Joanna. She's all he sees when he looks at me. Why have I tried so hard to bring my mother and father back together when I am shut out of this family portrait? He only loves her, not me._

_Not me. Never me. Always Joanna._

Lost to her tears, Catelyn chose not to listen to the sounds of people outside, plotting their way in. She was the future Evenstar, so she was owed the respect of her own choices; consequently, nobody could stop her from locking herself in her room and loudly crying. However, her rank did nothing to stop others trying to persuade her of her folly.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Pulling her cover tightly over her head, Catelyn was determined not to listen.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

"Go away!"

There was a pause, until Catelyn's father finally summoned the words to speak. "Catelyn, can I come in and talk to you? I think... I think I haven't made myself very clear in how I feel... I've made you feel bad, and I don't want..."

"I don't care," spat Catelyn vindictively, her chest hurting. "Go and talk to Joanna about your feelings. _Catelyn_ does not wish to speak to you."

At that barbed comment, Catelyn could almost hear Ser Jaime's sharp intake of breath through the door. Although she felt a little guilty about raising her sister's ghost, it was his job to apologise, so Catelyn left him with nothing but the option to scrabble around for a different set of soothing platitudes.

"Catelyn, I..."

Even though Ser Jaime had only managed to get two words out, there was something wounded and reproachful in his tone, which made Catelyn angry. _She_ was the one who was hurt. _She_ was the one who had been overlooked and forgotten. What right did he have to sound upset?

"I said _go away."_

To her surprise, he did. A few minutes later, there was another knock on the door; this time, it was much more purposeful.

"Cat," came a wheezing voice that Catelyn instantly recognised as her mother's. "I know you do not wish to speak to Ser Jaime, but maybe you want to talk to me." For a moment, Catelyn considered the prospect - her mother perhaps knew better than anyone what it was like to be abandoned and forgotten by Jaime Lannister, after all - but then the Evenstar continued talking. "Jaime is sorry, I know he is, and if you would just _listen..."_

"You can go away too!" Catelyn shouted from underneath her blanket, not wanting to hear where this line of argument was going. "You will just take his side!"

"No I won't..."

"Yes you will!" she snarled, barely caring if she was hurting her mother's feelings. "So leave me alone!"

At that instruction, the guard changed again. This time, the Hand of the King was sent to bargain with her.

"Catelyn? This is Tyrion here... well, I suppose your _Uncle_ Tyrion. I've always known that, of course, but for you this must all be so strange and new." In spite of herself, Catelyn cocked her head to listen. Perhaps Tyrion would say something illuminating that would put a new spin on these events. 

Sniffing slightly, Catelyn lifted her head from her pillow. "What do you want?"

"To tell you that my brother has, and always will be, an idiot of the highest order when it comes to people he loves."

That surprised her. For her whole life, Catelyn had heard stories of the Kingslayer - evil, depraved, arrogant, cruel - but never stupid. Sitting up and pulling her knees up to her chest, Catelyn tried to fix that descriptor on the man she knew; Jaime Lannister.

When Catelyn gave Tyrion nothing but silence, he began to talk, just as he was prone to do. However, it was not reassuring words or coaxing promises, but a story. It was the same story Catelyn had heard many times over the last few weeks, but this time it was through Tyrion's eyes. "Back at Winterfell, after the Battle for the Dawn but before your father left, he and I went out for a drink at a local tavern. I asked him about your mother, about the time they were spending together, and he said he was _happy._ My brother happy; I did not believe such a thing was possible, but your giant of a mother did just that for him. Made him happy."

For some inexplicable reason, something swooped in Catelyn's stomach. Ever since Jaime Lannister had arrived on the island, she had been trying to pin down the corners of his personality. Was he witty? Charming? Arrogant? Serious? Yet the more she searched, the more she came back to one word; sad. So, so tremendously sad. To hear how her mother had once made him happy, then, was quite alien.

"Then why did he leave?" asked Catelyn, confused. "If he was so happy, why did he go?"

She had heard her mother and father discuss this point at length, each coming up with plausible options - Cersei, Joanna, King's Landing - but Catelyn was suddenly interested in hearing from perhaps the only person left alive who had known Jaime Lannister in every phase of his life, from the Kingslayer to the idealistic child, the boy to the man.

"Cersei."

It was such a simple answer, but so wrapped in grief, secrets, and sorrow at the same time. Before Ser Jaime had arrived on Tarth, Catelyn had only heard Queen Cersei Lannister mentioned during her history lessons with Maester Yreme and the copy of _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Just like her brother, the history book had painted Cersei as an out-and-out villain, but where Cersei was driven by an overwhelming love for her children, the Kingslayer was inspired by an overwhelming lust for her.

 _I don't think that can be right,_ thought Catelyn, _because wouldn't a woman who loved her children so very much have secluded herself away in grief, rather than baited a dragon and burnt a city on her children's pyre?_

"I don't understand," said Catelyn honestly, trying to fit the broken pieces of a life before her own together.

"I didn't either, at the time," Tyrion confessed through the door. Even though Catelyn could not see his face, she could sense his sadness. "But I think I learnt a little after Daenerys captured my brother and I went to free him. While he was in his chains, Jaime was in one of those moods where he would not listen to reason, and saying horrible, _horrible_ things about himself. That he was the stupidest Lannister, that he never cared for the innocent... what nonsense!"

Tyrion seemed so outraged by those long ago lies, that it took him a moment to gather himself.

"When we were children, Jaime was always the one to come up with clever games; to dive from the cliffs by Casterly Rock, to go hunting for puffin eggs. Of course he wasn't stupid. He was brave and sweet and kind. My protector, my only shield against my father's hatred. Jaime has _always_ cared for the innocent, because he cared for _me._ It was just in that moment - chained and depressed - he didn't want to see himself as I saw him. My big brother, your mother's lover. Instead, all he felt was the poison _she_ had infected him with. I had to let him go, otherwise he would have cut down half the kingdom to get to her."

"But why?" asked Catelyn, confused. In her seventeen years, she had loved people - her mother, Pod, Ty, Meg - but had never felt like they poisoned her, never felt the need to love them until she herself wasted away. "Why would he have been so determined to destroy everything in his path just to get back to her?"

Given everything Catelyn knew about her own heart, Tyrion's response was therefore a little surprising. Letting out a bone-tired sigh, Catelyn's could hear the gentle knocking sound the door made when he rested his head against it. "Because what you have got to understand is that my brother is a strong oak tree, rooted in his immense capacity for love. And my sister was a vine; wrapping him, choking him, making him forget what bits of himself belonged to him and what to her."

"None of him should have belonged to her," announced Catelyn, as if she had years of knowing the world behind her. "The only person he should have ever belonged to was himself."

On the other side of the door, Tyrion let out a sad laugh. "Quite, but that was never the way for Jaime and Cersei. They spent nine months sharing a womb. As children, they swapped clothes and no one could tell the difference, and they were lovers before they knew what the word truly meant. Therefore, although Jaime had found the blossom of something new with your mother, when he heard that it was likely Cersei would die, he had to go to her. I don't even know if he knew exactly why; perhaps it was just the thrum of his blood, calling him back to her, or that she had sold him a story in the years she sold him her body - _we are two halves of a whole_ \- and feeling that nobody could ever love an oathbreaker, a man without honour... _Kingslayer..._ Jaime believed her. He believed her. He let her tell him that he was her reflection, because the alternative was a life truly alone. Not a twin. Not a soulmate. Alone. So when Daenerys attacked King's Landing, Jaime feared the mirror would smash. Without Cersei, he would be nothing. He had to go back to her."

The way Tyrion told the story made it sound oddly romantic - the brave knight returning to his fair love who he was destined to die with - but the way Catelyn saw it, there wasn't anything about Ser Jaime's relationship with his sister that was romantic at all. For his sister, he had pushed a small boy out of a window, murdered his cousin, and betrayed the North. All dark things, evil things. For Brienne of Tarth, he had told her the truth about himself, saved her from a bear, and gave her a sword, a squire, and a daughter.

Catelyn knew which one she thought was better.

"Why did he have to go back to her?" she inquired firmly, not liking the way Tyrion was presenting his brother and sister as characters from an old song. "He had a choice, didn't he? Like any other man? And my mother offered him love. Why didn't he take it?"

The answer pointed to destiny a lot more than Catelyn would have liked. "My brother never chose Cersei, because it was fated. There was no will to it. It was just destiny, playing her hand by tying them together. Knowing his stars, he could never have betrayed her."

"Yet I am here," replied Catelyn sharply. If any song was going to be sung in this castle, it was that of the Evenstar. "Me. His betrayal of his sister written in blood. If Jaime Lannister loved Cersei so very much, why does Catelyn of Tarth even exist? His daughter. His transgression made flesh. Are you trying to tell me that my birth was an aberration of destiny? That his relationship with my mother was a mistake?"

In spite of Catelyn's irritated tone, Tyrion let out a laugh. "No, that is not what I am trying to say."

"Then what?"

There was another sigh, but this one was warmer. "I am trying to say that, although Jaime and Cersei Lannister were destined, it was your mother he chose. For her, he defied his stars and chose the evening star to set his course by, even after he left. Everything else was just happenstance, him drifting along in the current."

"But what about Joanna?" asked Catelyn, raising that old ghost. "He chose her... he chose..."

"She was a little girl who needed love and protection. Even with her he followed your mother's light, as he tried to raise her with love and care, just as he would if she had been Brienne of Tarth's babe."

Although she could see Tyrion's argument - that Joanna had been raised as if she were Catelyn of Tarth - Catelyn's jealousy still roiled at the pit of her stomach. "I was a little girl who needed love and protection," she retorted, feeling the years of not knowing her own father eating at her. "I needed love."

When Tyrion replied, his words cut like a dagger sheathed in silk. "And you got it. You grew up in a fairy tale castle with a mother who adored you, who would have gutted anyone who made you cry. You had a rambunctious little brother in Ty, who looks up to you and admires you. And Pod, even though he is not your father, has just spent at least ten minutes spitting nails at my brother when he heard how he hurt you. You are loved, Catelyn, and now you have the opportunity for more love. Isn't it wonderful?"

Although part of her knew Tyrion was speaking the truth, she could not help but remember Joanna, the ghost. "But he called me by her name, she is all he talks about..."

"But she is no threat to you. She is gone. Dead."

"And what does that change?" asked Catelyn, the tears welling in her eyes once more. "Nothing."

"Everything."

That answered surprised her. Wiping her cheeks, Catelyn tried to answer him without weeping. "How so?"

"Because with her loss, he finally broke with his stars. He made his choice, the one he always wanted to make. With Joanna gone, he no longer feels like he is besmirching your mother with his old sins. Now Cersei and Joanna are dead, perhaps Jaime can see how your mother saw him, how I saw him; as a whole person, who doesn't need his sister to exist."

In her mind's eye, Catelyn tried to picture Cersei Lannister, but she just seemed a shadow in comparison to her twin. Maybe she was the reflection after all. "But he could have come back before," sniffed Catelyn uncertainly, feeling the weight of her father's pain settling on her shoulders. "He could have come back when Joanna was still alive. We could have grown up together on Tarth... it doesn't need to be this hard."

"You never met Cersei," interjected Tyrion gently, his voice laced with poison at the use of his sister's name. "She made Jaime put the word _love_ over a whole box of emotions that deserved different names. Anger. Hate. Obsession. So when your mother offered it, he could not see what it really was. Yet, by the time he did, it was too late. Cersei had drunk herself into a stupor in Pentos and was bargaining with her only remaining child, Joanna was teething and hungry, and your mother was far away on a starry island, so distant she was almost a dream. Therefore, he could only come back when she was made flesh once more by rumours of her ill health. The second he heard, my brother knew what he had to do. Knowing he would face your mother's wrath, Pod's anger, and a tidal wave of rejection. Yet he came back, because he wanted to be with her in the end. _Her_ end, not his, because in all likelihood your father will outlive your mother, and he will have to bear that pain. _Him._ And he will bear that grief because he loves her. Yes, he may be haunted by the ghosts of all his wrongs. Yes, he may see Joanna at every corner. Yes, it might be seventeen years too late, but he is here. Finally."

 _Finally._ The way Tyrion said it made it seem like the last page of a book. The only question was, whose book was it?

"Finally," she breathed, weighing up the word.

Letting her ruminate on the word, Tyrion illustrated what _finally_ meant. "You have a chance to know him now. He has a chance to know you. None of us can alter the things we have done in the days already gone, but I like to think we have the opportunity to change our stars now. You've never had father, but now you can make it so."

"But what if he doesn't want me?" asked Catelyn a little desperately, suddenly feeling the aching hole where Jaime Lannister had been all her life quite acutely. "What if he doesn't love me as much as he did Joanna?"

To Catelyn's surprise, Tyrion let out another chuckle on the other side of the door. "Oh Cat, that could never happen."

"Why not?" she asked bemusedly, thinking back to Ser Jaime's familiar pale-faced mourning and the haunted expression he wore when he uttered her dead sister's name.

"Because my brother is so overflowing with love that he will have to find someone to give it to, and there will be no less for you just because Joanna has some of his heart," Tyrion declared, leaving Catelyn to hear his smile. "There is an unlimited supply."

"You think?"

"I _know,_ " Tyrion replied, with all the authority of the Grand Maester of the Citadel. "I am the first innocent he loved. And, anyway, you really are quite adorable. He would be a fool not to see it."

With a blush turning her cheeks a rose red, Catelyn was immensely glad that she had locked Tyrion out, so he could not witness her vulnerability. "You don't need to say that."

"I do," interjected Tyrion ardently. Catelyn wondered if he spoke this passionately in King Bran's Council Chamber. "Because you are a wonderful young woman, and you deserve to hear the truth."

Sniffing, Catelyn looked down at her lost hand that made her more a reflection of her father than Cersei Lannister had ever been. "Thank you," she mumbled, touched by his attempt to make her feel better.

"It is nothing," the Hand of the King said gently, before giving one quick knock on the door. "And now we have concluded our heart to heart, I have also been told to inform you that your mother is arranging for us to have dinner in her rooms tonight. If you feel up to it, you are more than welcome to join."

Even though her eyes were still sore from crying, it was as if Tyrion had lifted something very heavy off her heart, so she found herself replying positively. "Thank you. Tell her that will be very nice, and I will be with her presently."

The door creaked as Tyrion moved back. "Good," he murmured, barely audible through the wood. "It will be nice for us all to talk about something other than the past for once."

 _Yes,_ thought Catelyn. _Maybe we could even discuss the future._

* * *

It took Catelyn fifteen minutes to straighten herself up enough to feel ready to face everyone once more. Changing into a light blue dress embroidered with Tarth stars, she was emboldened, so made her way up to her mother's solar. Just as Tyrion had told her, the servants had brought in a feast - wine, cheese, sweetmeats, honey-glazed ham, grapes, sweetmeats, and lemon cakes - so Catelyn's eyes went wide.

"Hungry, are we?" asked Pod as she entered, noting her expression, from his position at the table.

However, Catelyn found it difficult to respond as her voice was caught in her throat. The castellan was not the Evenstar's only guest. Seated on the other side of Podrick was the Hand of the King, eating his way through a plate of lemon cakes, while Ty was also there, chatting excitedly to Bronn. And then there was Ser Jaime. As their eyes met, the room fell to silence, only punctuated by his chair scraping the floor as he got to his feet.

"Ser Jaime," said Catelyn levelly, keeping her gaze averted from his searching green eyes when it became too much. "I hope you have had..."

Whatever trite platitude she was about to utter was cut off, however, as Ser Jaime marched forward, taking her hand with his own. Looking up at him, she thought she saw stars in his eyes.

"I am sorry, Lady Catelyn," he declared quickly, his tone betraying his sorrow. "I am sorry for making you feel second best. That was not my intention, _never_ my intention."

At his prostration, Catelyn felt less fearful of a confrontation. "Then what was it?"

His answer came out as cold and bracing as the north wind. "I did not want to bring my grief to your door. I was _trying_ to keep you separate, you and Joanna. And I did not want to tread on territory where I would not be welcome; I did not know in what way you would want me."

"Why would you not be welcome?" she asked confusedly. "You are my father."

"An _absent_ father," Ser Jaime corrected her with a shake of his head. "I left Brienne to be mother and father both to you."

Although Catelyn could not see her mother as she was seated behind Ser Jaime, she wondered whether she was smiling. "Well then, maybe it is time things changed." As she looked at her father, who was gazing at her with immense gratitude, Catelyn delivered him the proposition she had been wanting to ever since she first discovered who he truly was to her.

"It is time you made the right choice," she told him, half an order, half an offer. "It is time to choose our stars. It is time you _tried._ "

The way Ser Jaime smiled at her - with crinkles at the corners of his eyes - made Catelyn believe he would.

Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I love to hear from you, so please consider leaving comments or kudos!
> 
> If you want to follow me on tumblr, I am @seethemflying


	17. Months and Months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn has time with her family...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I am sorry this has taken bloody ages, but angst is so much harder to write than Jaime and Brienne bopping around as superheroes! That being said, I hope you like this chapter. Please let me know :)

And then quite suddenly, they all had time.

With no need to cross the Narrow Sea to Pentos, Tyrion was able to stay at Evenfall Hall. At first it was awkward; clearly, the two Lannister brothers no longer knew how to co-exist with one another. Initially, Catelyn thought their uneasiness was caused by a long separation of seventeen years, but in watching them she quickly came to realise that they had not been allowed to behave as brothers at least since they were children, and maybe never even then.

They didn't know how.

"My mother died when I was very young," Ser Jaime confessed to Catelyn one night by the fire when she had prompted him to tell her more about himself. "I don't really remember much about her other than the fact she used to sing me lullabies and that... she discovered Cersei and I, when we were small."

Catelyn sucked in a breath of cold night air at the mention of her aunt. The Bad Queen. Cersei. The poison in her mother's memories. Although nobody knew whether she was dead or alive, Cersei was as much of a ghost as Joanna. Her presence weighed heavy.

"What were you doing?" Catelyn asked, fearing the answer. "What did your mother discover?"

At her question, Ser Jaime turned his gaze back to the fire. The light danced in his eyes. "I don't know. I don't really remember."

At first, Catelyn thought that her father was lying to her, but soon she discovered that there were many things her father could not remember; the day his mother died, the weeks in the woods after he lost his hand, fragmented patches of time after the Mad King's death. But then Catelyn had looked at him, really looked at him, and decided that his raggedy past was not a matter of deceit but of forgetting.

 _Forgetting,_ she concluded, _is his way of stopping the poison seeping in and blotting out his sins._

_It is a balm, in a way, of soothing the trauma._

_Can I choose to forget?_

_Can I ever_ _truly forget my father's sins even if I succeed in forgiving him?_

Some days Catelyn believed she could. Together they would go down to town and talk with the locals, searching for potential members for the island guard. She discovered that her father was very companionable, and that he had a way of charming people into convincing them that his ideas were their own. Mistress Jeyne down at the Blue Pig was positive effusive. Old Tom the Baker laughed at his jokes. The smallfolk _liked_ him, quite in contrast to the way they silently respected the austere Evenstar. Yet they could not see the shadow behind Ser Jaime's smile. Sadness always seemed to be weighing him down, heavier than plate armour. Catelyn would have offered to be his squire to help him take it off, but he seemed more interesting in serving her.

"Lady Catelyn, you have to hold your pen slightly differently when writing with your left. Here, let me show you..."

"I bought some honey down at the market while passing through town yesterday. Would you like some on your porridge?"

"Can I help you up onto your horse, my lady?"

Catelyn had to admit she liked her father taking an interest in her, even though it felt a little servile at times. She was not surprised. Hadn't he told her he wanted penance and that it could not be earned in a feather bed? Perhaps he wanted it to hurt as he won her love, for it to feel like humiliation and sacrifice. Perhaps he wanted to play the flagellant, broken and bleeding. Perhaps Ser Jaime did not want her kindness. It felt too much like forgiveness, and he was not ready for that yet.

"Was he always like this?" asked Catelyn mildly to Tyrion one day over dinner.

As Ser Jaime was down the other end of the table with the Evenstar, pouring her wine and smiling at her, Tyrion initially did not get who she was talking about. "Sorry? Who?"

"My father," Catelyn replied, lowering her voice, even though there was no chance in all Seven Hells that he could hear her from this distance. "Did he always flinch away from anything that looked like affection? Like love?"

Tyrion took a sip of his wine and gazed at her if he was seeing the intricate clockwork behind the eyes for the first time. "Do you remember what I told you about him and Cersei?"

"You told me many things about him and Cersei," said Catelyn swiftly, "most of it sounded like a story written by a foolish old Maester with a taste for tawdry romantic tales."

Bringing the goblet away from his lips, Tyrion let out a huff of laughter. "Very true, Catelyn. I see you have inherited your father's wit."

"And my mother's determination never to be distracted from the prize," she teased, wondering whether Tyrion was trying to make her dance away from the point. Catelyn discovered she was correct when Tyrion gave her a knowing smile. "So... what exactly did you tell me about your sister?"

Tyrion needed another sip of wine to prepare himself for discussing Cersei. "I told you that she made him put the word love over a whole lot of emotions that were nothing of the sort. So this... _devotion_ , if we want to use that word, is him attempting to show you he cares. In Jaime's mind, if he's not doing things for you... how on earth are you meant to love him?"

"Because he's my father..."

"Jaime's mother died when he was small, while father saw him as a tool to further the Lannister name," interjected Tyrion, gently explaining how life was beyond Evenfall Hall, "and his sister saw him as a toy she could use when she was in heat, tired, sad, or just needed someone to die. Jaime was always a blade, but your mother was the only person who venerated him as priceless Valyrian steel rather than wear him as a knife to be used in a street brawl in Flea Bottom."

Catelyn furrowed her brow, unsure of what Tyrion was trying to say. "So... what you are saying is he's deadly?"

Smiling, Tyrion shook his head. "While that is true, what I am attempting to tell you very poorly is that Jaime knows how to give love, but he doesn't know how to receive it. So be prepared for him to give and give and give until he burns out, because he does not recognise it when it is aimed in his direction. It is his way."

Although she was a little sceptical of Tyrion's analysis, that night, Catelyn reasoned that what her uncle had said was nothing but the truth, because when she went to visit her mother, she found Ser Jaime curled up in a ball outside her room clutching a dagger. He had sworn the Evenstar his sword, after all.

 _To him, love is hard won but freely given,_ she concluded.

_How sad._

* * *

Although Catelyn continued to ponder that upsetting revelation every time her father looked her way, she was not forced to fully confront it until Tyrion left for King's Landing a few weeks later, summoned by a raven due to some minor squabble on the Small Council.

"I would rather be here enjoying the sun," he said with a cordial smile when Catelyn, her mother, her father, Podrick, Ty, and the entire household lined up in the courtyard to bid him farewell, "but the realm needs me."

"Of course, little brother," replied Ser Jaime, a strange sadness behind his eyes. "And you need the realm."

Tyrion sighed, knowing Ser Jaime had drawn him well. "Indeed, I do."

If Catelyn understood anything about her newfound uncle, it was that he relished power above all else. Like his dead or dying sister, she supposed.

"You are welcome back on Tarth anytime," said the Evenstar gently, holding onto Ser Jaime's arm for support. "Will you be making the trip again soon?"

Tyrion dropped his mismatched gaze to the ground. "I doubt it. King Bran sees nothing but visions and dreams; it is I who must keep the wheels running. If all is well and good, I will perhaps be able to visit in a year. King Bran permits me that at least."

Measuring a year in her mind, the Evenstar suddenly looked very melancholy. "Oh, well. I am sure Catelyn will be most happy to welcome you."

The unsaid lingered in the air, but the only person to react was Ser Jaime, whose pain flickered in his eyes.

"I am sure she will," said Tyrion lightly, gesticulating towards Catelyn in a friendly manner.

Ser Jaime cleared his throat, attempting to bury the bad. "As will Ser Brienne."

"In a dream, perhaps," she replied, petting his hand.

* * *

Ever since she had started taking the medicine from Marahai, Brienne of Tarth no longer looked like a dying woman, so it was easy to forget that the grains of sand were trickling through the hourglass at a steady rate. Most days, she would happily watch Catelyn spending time with her father, all excitement and pleasure. If that meant going to town, the Evenstar would be there to wave them off. If it meant helping them both with the accounts, she would. The only line she _did_ draw was singing around the fire after dinner, although the Evenstar would watch Ser Jaime as he sang in his rich, untrained baritone, her eyes alight with the fire's glow and some unnamed else.

Catelyn felt her mother's eyes on her every day she enjoyed with her father, and she wondered whether it was just that the Evenstar was happy to see them together or just the fact that love poured out of Jaime Lannister even when he did not realise it, and it was a beautiful sight. Day after day he tried to be useful, wanted, needed without ever expecting anything in return. When he was not organising the island guard, he spent his time volunteering to teach Catelyn how to sew, write, horse-ride, and even sword fight left handed, while always being indispensable in case she had any other slight fancy.

Yet his softest feelings were always for the Evenstar.

As she now had more energy, Catelyn's mother often expressed the wish to do more than just walk around the herb garden in Evenfall Hall. Although Evenfall Hall was a large castle, it was not the world, and at heart Brienne of Tarth was an explorer; albeit an explorer who had lost her wings.

"We could go to the beach," she suggested one morning while she was pouring the honey that Ser Jaime had brought from the market over her porridge. "The weather is so beautiful that it would be nice to just bathe in the warmth."

Podrick furrowed his brow. "I don't know if that is sensible."

"Yes, let's go to the beach!" squealed Ty excitedly. "We could take a picnic down and go swimming in the sea."

Although Podrick's face still betrayed that he thought this was a _terrible_ idea, Ser Jaime disagreed. "Oh yes, wench, it would be good for you to get some sunshine on your skin. Shall I call up the carriage?"

"Yes," she agreed, glad that Ser Jaime was willing to join her on this journey into spontaneity. "Cat will come too, won't you?"

Podrick stared at her with warning eyes - _say no_ \- but in her heart of hearts, Catelyn wanted nothing more than to spend a carefree day with her mother and father. "Of course I will come."

Her acquiescence was greeted with smiles.

It did not take long for the carriage to be prepared for the five of them. The servants packed food and drinks in a hamper - cheeses, smoked ham, olive bread, and wine - and they were carefully loaded into the trunk. Ty was the first to slip inside the carriage, followed by Catelyn, who was helped in by Pod. It took longer for the Evenstar and her Master-at-Arms to appear, but when they did, Ser Jaime grasped her arm as they crossed the courtyard, taking care that she would not fall, and then helped her into the carriage. He got in straight after.

Once everyone was in the carriage, an uneasy silence settled, and it was only the distraction provided by Ty's excitable babbling that diverted Catelyn's mother and father from Podrick's penetrating stare as they set off down the road. The Evenstar and her Master-at-Arms were sitting far too close for comfort. As she took Ser Jaime's good hand and pointed out all the sights of Tarth through the carriage window, Podrick's mouth became a thin line of discontent. He clearly believed this whole endeavour was a foolish idea, and that assumption was not erased by the light joke Ser Jaime released when they arrived at the beach.

"Very different from the snow at Winterfell, isn't it, wench?"

The Evenstar smiled, revealing her crooked teeth. "Quite. And from that muddy hell in the Riverlands."

"We do like to spend time together in the most beautiful places," he beamed, which caused everyone other than Podrick to laugh.

Wanting to soothe the tension, Catelyn helped Podrick unpack the picnic basket, lay the blanket out on the sand, then get the food out. Ser Jaime poured the Evenstar's wine as Catelyn laid back on her elbows, enjoying the feel of the sun on her skin. Before long, she found herself eating the food the servants had made them and then watching as Ty went paddling into the sea, pretending to be a pirate king discovering a new land.

"Wench, take me for a stroll," Ser Jaime demanded, tilting his head to the side to reveal an echo of golden beauty, long lost to age and time. "You can show me the outline of this kingdom of yours."

Blushing like a maid, the Evenstar nodded. "You will have to help me up, but I can take you to the end of the beach. On clear days, you can see Storm's End."

Looking very enthused by her plan, Jaime got to his feet and then helped Catelyn's mother stand after him. "Podrick, Catelyn, would you like to come with us?"

"No thank you," replied Catelyn lazily. "I am having too much fun laying in the sun."

"And I'm eating," said Podrick sullenly.

Sensing the Castellan's tone, Ser Jaime nodded at him swiftly, his carefree smile falling from his face, before turning to the Evenstar. "Come on then, wench. Let's go and see Storm's End."

Accompanied by the sounds of Ty's childish glee, Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne went walking down the beach. They had to go slow; for all the Evenstar pretended at strength, she was still not half the woman she had been. Ser Jaime was patient and kind with her, strolling by her side and always making sure she did not stumble. Yet the way Podrick looked at them, Catelyn could tell that he was not seeing the present, but something that happened long ago. A darkness distant from the midday sun.

"You mislike him, don't you?" she asked, searching for the truth in Podrick's dark expression. Although the Castellan did not immediately open his mouth, Catelyn could see him chewing the inside of his lip, weighing up his words. Clearly, he was worrying that she would not appreciate his answer.

"No, I don't like him," the Castellan eventually admitted, the force of the confession seemingly taking some of the weight off his shoulders. "I never really have."

To Catelyn's surprise, she found his words stung. Ser Jaime was her father and even though their relationship was newly-born, it hurt to know that he was disliked. "Why not? Because he was the Kingslayer?"

"No," replied Pod, a sad laugh bolstering his answer. "It was not that he was the Kingslayer. Many years ago he saved me after Tyrion was imprisoned, then sent me on the journey with your mother that led me here. I have never regretted a single part of that journey, ever. I met your mother and my wife and _you_ and... if I had stayed in King's Landing, most like my head would have ended up on a spike in the Red Keep. Instead, I have had a life that most men would be envious of. I have the Kingslayer to thank for that first step."

Given his sentimental response, Catelyn furrowed her brow. "Then why?"

The answer came, quick as a whip.

"He does not deserve your mother. He has _never_ deserved her. She showed him nothing but loyalty and love, yet he repaid her with abandonment and shame. Although she loves you deeply, Cat, you do not know the torment she went through bringing a bastard into the world. How she had to stay in his old room carrying his child, all the while thinking him dead. How she brought shame to her father, how the detestable gossipmongers called her the Kingslayer's whore. How she hated that she still loved him. Her tears. Although King Bran made it as easy as possible for her by legitimising you, it was Ser Jaime's duty to marry your mother whether he loved her or not, his sister be damned. Cersei did nothing but evil in her life and yet was rewarded, while Ser Brienne's goodness was forsaken. It kills me that she lives in such an imperfect world, hurt by his unkindness or indifference."

Although Podrick was trying to convey something important to her, Catelyn did not look him in the eye, as she was staring at the silhouetted figures of her mother and father, walking hand-in-hand along the shore. Ghosts from a cruel world beyond Tarth's shore.

"You do not believe he loves her?" Catelyn asked, eyeing their easy intimacy with suspicion.

Podrick shrugged, but it was less nonchalant and more deliberate. "I do not know. Sometimes it is impossible to look past the reputation and the man beneath the armour. Perhaps it is feeling. Perhaps it is artifice."

"And yet _she_ loves him still," Catelyn said softly, trying to show Podrick that there was another way forward but silent loathing, "for what he is."

"What she _thinks_ he is," Podrick replied, playing with the cuff of his shirt.

He could not quite meet Catelyn's eye.

Taking a breath, Catelyn decided to ask him something that had been gnawing at her for some time. "Do you think she should send him away?"

Expecting an instant _yes,_ she was surprised when Podrick shook his head. "No, I do not," he sighed, sounding weary of the world. "For seventeen years she has been longing to forgive him, why would I begrudge her that small peace?"

That seemed a strange statement to make.

"Peace?" Catelyn inquired, raising her eyebrows at him. What did peace have to do with anything?

Apparently, it was a difficult concept to explain, so Podrick took his time in finding the words. "Whatever he feels for her, your mother loves him... has always loved him. Therefore, his absolution would also be hers; his forgiveness her redemption."

Catelyn did not think that made sense. Surely, when speaking of redemption, the Kingslayer's critics focussed on him, not on the woman he abandoned in the winter snow. "Why do you say that?"

"Because by forgiving him," began Podrick, attempting to make Catelyn understand, "your mother will also validate her love for him. That all these years of pain, heartbreak, and longing were not in vain. Whether he deserves such devotion... I do not know, but it would free her nevertheless."

A silence descended between them, only punctuated by the sounds of the seagulls and Ty's childish glee from the water. Catelyn turned to look at her parents once more, only to discover they were both far-away smudges in the distance. Perhaps that was what they had always been to her.

"Do you think I should send him away?" she asked Podrick, imagining the conversation her parents were having. "After mother... _goes,_ do you think I banish him from Tarth? You believe he is undeserving of her love, so is he also undeserving of mine?"

Expecting an instant judgement, Catelyn was therefore surprised when Podrick gazed at her confusedly. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because you are the closest person to a father I have ever had," Catelyn confessed in a rush, failing to hide the flames in her cheeks, "and I respect your opinion."

Evidently touched, Podrick chose soft words.

"It is your choice, Catelyn. Tarth will be your kingdom and you can make it in your image. Do you want a chance to know him - warts and all - and give him a place in your life? Or do you want to turn your back on it all, the good and the bad."

"You think there is good in him?" she asked, hoping he would say yes.

"Of course," replied Podrick in a hushed tone. "He rode north to defend your mother just like he rode south to betray her. He spent seventeen years away from her and he also returned. Ser Jaime did both. You just have to decide which deed is worth more."

Mulling on Podrick's conclusions, Catelyn knew she needed time to think, so lay back on the sand to enjoy the sun.

* * *

When coming to her decision, it did not help that the servants were gossiping, clouding Catelyn's judgement.

"The mistress is spending lots of time with the new Master-at-Arms, isn't she?"

"The handsome one?"

"He's not handsome, he's _old."_

"Handsome once."

"He's missing a hand."

"He's still handsome."

"Do you think the mistress likes him?"

"To be sure. I think he reminds her of her lost love. The Kingslayer had a missing hand too."

"They weren't in love, though, that was just a rumour."

"Well, whatever the truth, she still likes Ser. Pippa has had to change her bedsheets quite a lot recently, and Tom said he saw Ser kiss her hand."

"How strange to love so late in life."

Although Catelyn knew the full truth of her mother and the new Master-at-Arms, she did not believe the servant's gossip. If there was some bond being forged beyond the courteous relationship their daughter witnessed every day, Catelyn would have been surprised. Her mother was quite sick and did not have the energy to go out most days of the week, so Catelyn thought Ser Jaime and the Evenstar must be behaving properly when the curtains were pulled. On the mornings when Catelyn woke up early, she would look out her window to see her mother and father in the private gardens. Sometimes they would walk up and between the well-ordered rows of flowers, or just sit on the bench listening to the birds. During the day they did their duties and bid each other farewell at dinner.

Entirely proper.

Yet one such day, Catelyn went up to her mother's solar to find a copy of _The Song of Joramun_ that she wanted to read to Ty. Surprised to discover that neither her mother nor the book were there, Catelyn had then ascended the stairs up into the Evenstar's equally empty chamber. Huffing, Catelyn went to leave, but then she heard something coming from the small antechamber adjacent to the Evenstar's room. It made her freeze.

"Oh yes, Jaime. Just _there..._ "

Catelyn's breath caught in her throat.

"Do you like that, Brienne?"

"Yes, Jaime... just a little harder."

Even though she knew she would be interrupting something and was terrified of what exactly she might see, Catelyn could not help but edge forwards. The door to the chamber was ajar, allowing Catelyn to peer into the private world occupied by her mother and father, thick with steam and burning heat.

The servants had evidently brought the Evenstar up a bath, and she was clearly not alone.

Blinking as the hot air hit her face, Catelyn saw that her mother was naked as her nameday in the tub, her arms resting casually on the rim. Ser Jaime was knelt directly behind her, bare-chested, meaning that when she tilted her head back, he could lift his hand and crown her with his fingers. Unaware of Catelyn's presence, Ser Jaime had corded his digits through Brienne of Tarth's hair; rubbing soothing circles into her scalp, curling her hair into ringlets, and running his hand across her neck and down her shoulders, all the while whispering gentle words into her ear.

"You still have freckles, wench."

"Did you think I would lose them?"

He let out a throaty laugh. "No, I just thought I would never see them again beyond my dreams."

Although Catelyn could not see the expression on her mother's face, she thought she might be smiling. "Give me your hand, Jaime."

"It's occupied with your hair at the moment," he smirked.

"No, your other hand."

Ser Jaime froze. "I... don't have another hand."

"Yes you do," the Evenstar replied, her voice soft. "I held it when we were in bed together. Let me do it again."

With a sigh that almost sounded like a sob, Ser Jaime brought his handless arm - which had been hanging lamely by his side - up and around the Evenstar, so it rested just above the water line and her breasts. The new angle meant the two knights were embracing. It seemed so warm, close, and indecent that Catelyn wanted nothing more than to flee, but her legs were like lead.

"I am sorry," whispered Ser Jaime, his mouth close to the Evenstar's ear.

"I know you are."

He swallowed loudly. "I can never make it up to you."

"Perhaps not," conceded her mother, her voice catching on some hidden emotion buried deep in her chest, "but that is only because we do not have time."

She tilted her head towards him, her temple against his. At her touch, Ser Jaime's breath became laboured. "I do not deserve this," he rasped, tears hiding just beneath his words. "I do not deserve your forgiveness."

"And yet I want to give it to you," the Evenstar breathed, her tone honey-smooth. "Let me give it to you, my love. Please. We have so little time left."

The Evenstar's last word was cut off the second it finished by Ser Jaime's lips on hers. Soft sounds of kisses, caresses, and sighs filled the air.

 _How could I have ever thought I was born of rape?_ Catelyn mused as the Evenstar let out a quiet moan. _My mother's love has been so poorly hidden all these years, just in a language I could not speak._

_And of course the servants were right. Of course._

Knowing that she was intruding, Catelyn fled, neither thinking of the rumours burning through the castle about the two knights' physical intimacy, nor that her parents were acting with little care for propriety. No, what Catelyn was really fixated on was the fact that her mother had said they did not have time because, from Catelyn's perspective, they _did_ have time.

Months of it.

Time that she could remember and cherish because she was not a small child for whom minutes felt like eons, one day interchangeable with the next. She was a woman, who could weigh up and appreciate every second of this new normal, even if it was not quite perfect. Yes, her father had done many bad things in the past and yes, Podrick was distrustful, but surely, she could be allowed to treasure these moments?

Contentment, soul deep.

A contentment built of Catelyn, Ser Jaime, and Ser Brienne. Podrick and Ty. The beach and the mountains. The stars in the eastern sky. As they ate together in the evenings, the Evenstar would call up singers from town, who would serenade her with songs about Galladon of Morne or Florian and Jonquil. Catelyn got better at writing with her left hand, all with Ser Jaime's help. The Island Guard started to grow and soon the people of Tarth were more trusting that their Evenstar could deal with bandits, and that there was no purpose in hiding in the woods to evade the law. Ser Jaime and Catelyn would play Cyvasse, while her mother would sit beside her giving unnecessary tips. The Evenstar laughed, truly laughed, and Catelyn felt these months were the time with the family she had never had.

In her happiness, they felt endless.

Yet winter always follows summer as - quite suddenly - one morning, Ty came dashing into Catelyn's room to tell her that her mother was struggling to breathe.

Brienne of Tarth had taken turn for the worse, and none of them had any time at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. As usual, I would love to hear what you think in the form of a comment or kudos. I really struggle writing angst, so would adore comments!


	18. Jenny of Oldstones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn rushes to see her mother...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for coming back. I have been worrying about this chapter for AGES, so I would love to hear what you think. I hope it is not too soul-destroying.

Catelyn was barely conscious of the familiar route that Ty took her along to reach her mother's chambers. Over the years, she had run up and down these passages hundreds of times in girlish games and childish arguments, but none would be so etched on her mind as this journey. She was still wearing her night gown - rumpled and revealing - and her feet were bare, allowing her to feel the cold of the stone under her soles, yet Catelyn hardly cared.

 _My mother is struggling to breathe,_ she thought, her panic near choking her.

 _My mother is dying._

Ty pushed open the door to the Evenstar's chamber once they arrived, but they could barely get through the throng. Maester Yreme was directing a whole troop of servants in a valiant effort of keeping the Evenstar alive - wine was being poured, herbs pressed for a poultice, the fire fanned, windows opened to let out the smoke - all while Brienne of Tarth laid on her bed, deathly pale, as a maid waved smelling salts under her nose.

Catelyn's heart near stopped at the sight.

_My mother is dying, and I can do nothing to prevent it._

In most of Catelyn's fondest memories, Brienne of Tarth was the best of knights. Virtuous. Honourable. Brave. Strong. She was Galladon of Morne wielding the sword that the Maiden gave her, Arthur Dayne, and Barristan Selmy rolled into one. As a child, Catelyn had lived in awe of the sheer power that radiated from her mother; physical and otherwise. Now, the woman lying in front of her was nothing like the magnificence Catelyn could remember. Pale and weak, her daughter barely recognised her at all.

"Move aside!" Catelyn snapped at the servants, trying to shove past them, but it was near impossible given how crowded the room was.

"Everyone who is not vital, get out of here _now!_ " came a familiar voice. Looking up, Catelyn noticed Podrick for the first time. He was standing next to the Evenstar's bed, supervising everything. "The Evenstar does not wish to be crowded! Move!"

As the castellan's commands rolled across the room like thunder, many of the less vital servants made their way from the chamber. However, it was still fairly packed, so Catelyn and Ty had to push their way through to reach her lady mother. When they got close enough, Catelyn saw that Podrick was flanked by Maester Yreme and Gertie the cook. The former was instructing the latter on the correct way to mix a particular concoction for the Evenstar, so the only one who was listening to her lady mother attentively was Podrick.

"Pod," she wheezed, her voice caught between a whisper and a whine. "Cat... want Cat."

Podrick looked momentary panicked, but then he spotted Catelyn out of the corner of his eye. "She's here, my lady. Do not worry about a thing. She's here."

"Mother," said Catelyn, trying to suppress her tears and be brave as she sat down beside the Evenstar, clasping her freckled hand in her own. It was icy to touch. "Mother... Ty says you are not feeling well. That you..."

The Evenstar took a heavy, shuddering breath that must have used up a great deal of energy. "Cat, there is no time... you've got to listen..."

"Maester Yreme and Gertie are working on something to make you feel better, so you must drink it. And then once you've got your breathing back under control, you can take some of that tincture that Ser Jaime brought from Marahai, and everything will be alright again. I love you, mother. I love you."

A ghost of a smile danced across the Evenstar's lips. "This is not a song... sweet Cat... no matter how much you long to sing it."

"What do you mean?" asked Catelyn, swallowing her tears in an effort to appear brave.

"I mean that you will be the Evenstar before the day is out."

Catelyn was horrified that her mother had so little hope, so squeezed her fingers. "Please do not say that..."

"I must, for it is the truth," the Evenstar wheezed, her chest rising and falling with every word, "so it is important you listen, just as I listened to my father on his deathbed." Even though it pained her, Catelyn knew her mother was speaking sense, so she shut her mouth and let the Evenstar speak. "I wanted more time... I thought I had more time... to let you have the girlhood that I had, to discover more about yourself."

"I don't need that," Catelyn reassured her mother, "I know who I am."

She fleetingly thought of Meg, long gone away.

The Evenstar's smile did not touch her eyes. "Good. I am glad, for you have always been such a sweet girl. My girl. My daughter. I love you. You have your father's temper and his sometimes caustic wit, no doubt, but you also have his bravery and his goodness... his kindness... and his lovely green eyes. All those traits will set you in very good stead to rule Tarth."

"Even the eyes?" teased Catelyn, although her heart was not truly in it. "Will a pair of _lovely green eyes_ help me rule Tarth?"

Her mother used all her energy to nod. "Undoubtedly... _cough, cough..._ you can charm... _cough..._ anybody you want... _cough..._ with eyes that lovely."

As the Evenstar descended into a coughing fit, Maester Yreme poured out a glass of water and went to give it to Brienne of Tarth. However, Catelyn intervened and took it from him, holding the goblet up to her mother's lips in turn. The Evenstar went to drink, taking small sips, as Catelyn soothed her - _hush now, hush now_ \- and eventually the coughing fit subsided.

 _Perhaps this battle with death is still to be won,_ thought Catelyn.

"But in truth," said her lady mother quietly, "ruling is not about being charming, or beautiful, or sweet to the people you meet. It is about remembering why you are there. As Evenstar, your role is to serve the people of Tarth; they gather your grain to stock your larder, milk your cows, brew your beer, mine your marble, and serve you in hall. In return, it is your job to protect them, Catelyn. I wielded a sword, but you have your own skills and talents. Use them to guard your people and be the star that lights their darkest nights."

After that haunting, poetic instruction, Brienne of Tarth's lungs once again betrayed her, and she began to cough again, leaving little specks of blood on the back of her sleeve. Not wanting her mother to suffer anymore, Catelyn hushed her and pulled the coverlet tighter around her.

"There, is there anything I can do to help?" Even with Maester Yreme and Gertie waving around smelling salts and Podrick looking on concernedly, it still took Brienne of Tarth a few minutes to find the strength to get her words out. Catelyn waited patiently, just holding her mother's hand. Small comforts were suddenly worth all the gold under Casterly Rock.

"I want Serjame..." her mother wheezed, her words muffled under her laboured breathing.

Podrick furrowed his brow, "Pardon, my lady, but we don't understand. Can you say that again?"

Brienne of Tarth took a great gasp of air before trying one last time. "I... wan... Serjame... Serjame Lannister."

"What did she say?" asked Podrick, looking between Gertie and Maester Yreme.

Although Catelyn knew the answer, she let Gertie answer in a hushed tone. "I think she said that she wants Ser Jaime Lannister, m'lord, but the Kingslayer's been dead seventeen years. Do you think this illness has stolen her wits as well as her breath?" Podrick met Catelyn's eye. Seemingly, in spite of all the screaming shouting matches that had punctuated the months since Ser Jaime's arrival on the island, none of the servants had yet put together that Ser Jaime Lefford was really Ser Jaime Lannister. Weighing up what was best to do, Podrick turned to his son.

"Ty, would you mind going to get Ser Jaime for me? Quickly?"

Gertie looked puzzled at that request. "Ser Jaime? What good would that do?"

Catelyn expected Podrick to answer her in some way that was ameliorating or would obfuscate the truth, but just at that moment the door to the Evenstar's chamber burst open, the door handle clanging loudly against the stone wall as they collided.

"Why did nobody tell me she was worse?" shouted Ser Jaime as he entered the chamber, his green eyes crackling like wildfire as he surveyed the room. Catelyn wondered whether he had looked so wrathful when he slit the Mad King's throat. "Why did nobody tell me?"

At this point, one of the Evenstar's personal maids piped up. "Ser Jaime, please do not be so loud! The Evenstar is..." He did not let her finish her sentence.

"The lion does not listen to the opinions of the sheep," Jaime growled as he pushed past her. And in that moment, there was no doubt he was a lion; although silver haired, it was clear he had once ruled a pride. "Nobody should have kept me away from her. I should stay with her, always."

While most of the servants looked supremely baffled by this sudden outburst, Gertie looked as if she had just seen a pig fly across the moon. As Ser Jaime came bowling past her, pushing not only her but Pod and Maester Yreme out of the way too (but leaving Cat exactly where she was) Gertie finally put it together.

"Kingslayer!" she exclaimed, shocked, which brought a chilly hush amongst the servants. The whispers started up like wildfire. With every passing second, Catelyn could see that realisation as to who Ser Jaime truly was, was spreading amongst the assembled crowd. Ser Jaime himself did not seem to care however, as he knelt down onto the floor beside the Evenstar's bed and gazed at her with ardent eyes.

"I came as soon as I heard," he said, stroking her face with tentative fingers.

The corners of the Evenstar's mouth turned upwards, evoking a laugh, even though she looked so sick and pained. "Always so late, Jaime."

"I'm sorry," he said for what must have been the thousandth time since his arrival on the island. He still looked so immensely sad, especially when his tears started to bloom in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm..."

In an effort to stop him descending into wracking sobs, the Evenstar pressed one long finger to his lips, which clearly took much energy. "I'm cold," she whispered, as she moved her hand from his mouth so she could cup his cheek. "So cold..."

Everyone in the room seemingly jumped into action at once.

"Put more wood on the fire!" instructed Maester Yreme.

"I'll shut the window," promised Gertie.

"Ty!" called Podrick, "let's see if we can get a hot stone from the fire."

Alarmed by all the hustle and bustle, Catelyn let go of her mother's hand in order to collect the blankets around her once more. In spite of this move to conserve warmth, Brienne of Tarth still seemed to be losing her grip on her surrounding. "Locke... the lovers... kept me warm."

"What is she saying? Does she want us to lock the door?" inquired Maester Yreme quietly to Podrick.

The Castellan shook his head. "I don't know. I..."

Yet Jaime Lannister clearly knew. Getting to his feet, he swiftly untucked his cambric shirt from his breeches and then threw it over his head, letting it pool at his feet on the floor. Everyone in the room was vaguely horrified.

"What are you doing?" asked Podrick, his eyes wide and staring.

Ser Jaime did not even look at him. "When Ser Brienne and I were captured by the Bloody Mummers, they cut off my hand and hung it round my neck, then tied us face to face on a horse. They laughed at us and called us the lovers. They meant to be cruel, but it was the only way we could keep warm... and I could only sleep when tied to her."

Nobody asked any more questions after that, not even when Ser Jaime climbed into bed beside the dying Evenstar and wrapped his arms around her, resting her pale blonde head into the crook of his neck. Catelyn could only watch in wonder.

"You are not going to die, do you hear me, wench?" Ser Jaime instructed, running his only hand soothingly up and down her back. "Do you hear me? You once told me to shut up, eat my fucking bread, and live, so now I'm telling you the same."

Catelyn's mother made a wheezing sound that could have been a laugh. "Jaime..."

"You can't go. Not yet," he insisted, the last word catching on a buried sob, "because I'm here, Brienne. I'm here, and I want to stay with you. Let me stay with you. I love you. Don't go, not yet. Not when you have so much to live for; you have to see Cat grow, Ty turn into a man, discover whether Pod continues to resist the urge to shove a knife in between my shoulder blades when you are not looking."

There was no mistaking the Evenstar's next sound for anything other than a chuckle, because it matched the giggle that escaped Catelyn's own lips. Yet the moment did not last, because the truth settled on them once more. Brienne of Tarth was dying, and the only comfort Catelyn could offer her mother was intertwining her fingers with hers.

From her position in his arms, the Evenstar looked up at Jaime, her eyes filled with the little light she had left. "I promise, my love. I will try."

Not having any words to offer her, Ser Jaime just kissed her; her forehead, her nose, her eyelids, her cheeks, and finally her mouth. Once he had finished, the Evenstar rested her head against his chest, and her eyes met with Catelyn's.

 _At least she is happy,_ Catelyn thought. _I suppose that is all I can ask for her now._

Wrapped in the arms of the man she loved, the Evenstar seemed determined not to spend her remaining time on matters of state, but asked everyone to speak of mundane things. Catelyn told her mother about her efforts to sew with her left hand, to her mother's amusement, while Ty prattled on about a secret door he had found in the cellar. That prompted Maester Yreme to explain that was where his maester's stocks were kept, and he could show Ty inside one day. The little boy seemed overjoyed by that promise. Given the slowly dissipating tension, even Gertie managed to ask questions about the Evenstar's memories of years ago, which were all merely veiled attempts to prove definitively that Jaime Lefford and Jaime Lannister were identical, but soothing all the same.

That left Podrick, who just succeeded in looking pale faced and sad when it was his turn.

"Have you not got anything to say, Podrick?" asked Catelyn. "No happy story from your past? No witticism? No jape?"

Podrick shook his head. "No," he said quietly, dropping his eyes to the floor. He had never been good at hiding his true feelings. "I am not particularly funny."

Ser Jaime went to tease him (he _was_ good at japes), but the Evenstar got there first. "Pod," she whispered, her voice barely audible even over the silence in the little room, filled only with the people who loved her and a few remaining servants. "Podrick."

"Yes my lady," her squire replied, straightening up.

"Can you sing something for me? You've always had a beautiful voice."

Podrick swallowed heavily, clearly feeling emotional weight of her request, before nodding. "Of course, my lady. What would you like me to sing?"

"You know," she murmured, as Ser Jaime stroked her hair. "You know."

Catelyn turned to her mother confusedly. Brienne of Tarth had never been one for music; not at dances or parties, or even around a campsite at night. For years, Catelyn had wondered whether her mother just thought songs frivolous things belonging to people who were not brave knights of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, when Catelyn had grown older and started to understand her mother more - perhaps only in the last few months - she had come to realise that the Evenstar had spent years trying to cut out her soft centre, of which a love of songs was the chief sign. That was why she had cleaved to silence.

As she mused on that point, Catelyn was so caught on her mother's tender expression that she was not looking at Podrick when he started to sing. The moment he did, though, Cat turned around in shock.

"High in the halls of the kings who are gone

Jenny would dance with her ghosts.

The ones she had lost and the ones she had found.

And the ones who loved her the most.

The ones who'd been gone for so very long

She couldn't remember their names.

They spun her around on the damp, old stones,

Spun away all her sorrows and pain.

And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave.

Never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave."

The song. The song that had been banned since her childhood. Catelyn could barely believe it. Having been haunted for years by her mother's act of censorship, Catelyn had never expected to hear it complete in Evenfall Hall. For most of her life she had not understood why her mother had loathed it so but now, Catelyn could finally glimpse at the reasons. She supposed it was one of the songs that Ser Jaime had mentioned Pod sang on the night of the knighting, and in all the years since it had reminded the Evenstar of that wonderful night, but also the cold winter snows that followed.

It was a song of staying, after all, and he had left.

Turning to her mother and father, the subject of the song, Catelyn had many questions to ask about that shadowed night by the fire, when Podrick had sung, and Brienne of Tarth had become the first female knight in Westeros at Jaime Lannister's hand. Yet, she never got to ask them, as Ser Jaime let out a strangled cry that changed the world forever.

"Brienne?" he choked, the gentle kisses and touches he had been employing up to that very moment suddenly turning more violent. Shaking her, he called out her name. "Brienne? Wench?"

Yet Brienne of Tarth did not answer, even though her sapphire eyes were wide open, staring and unseeing.

 _Even after death,_ thought Catelyn, absurdly, _she longs to look on Jaime Lannister's face._

Frozen in shock, Catelyn did nothing as Podrick and Maester Yreme stepped forward, the former coaxing Ser Jaime to loosen his grip on the Evenstar, while the latter pressed his fingers to her forehead and then to her exposed wrist, hanging limply at her side. He did not need to say anything to convey his conclusions. With a sombre expression, the old Maester just nodded a Podrick.

The silence was overwhelming. Catelyn could do nothing but mutely stare at her mother, cradled gently in Ser Jaime's arms. Her mother could not _die._ Brienne of Tarth was as strong and eternal as an old oak, as the weirwood trees with staring faces that lined the northern groves. She wielded a famous magical sword and songs were sung about her along the Kingsroad. Brienne of Tarth could not do something so mortal as die!

Yet the evidence seemed to contradict Catelyn's most unshakeable beliefs.

"The Evenstar has set," said Podrick eventually, his voice hoarse. "A new dawn arises. Long live the Evenstar."

At the evocation of the ancient Tarth phrase acknowledging the succession of a new Evenstar that Catelyn had last heard around her grandfather's deathbed, every single person in the room turned to face her. She was near washed away in a sea of sad eyes.

"Long live the Evenstar!" came the cry, ringing out from Podrick and Ty, Maester Yreme and Gertie, and the army of servants. "Long live the Evenstar!"

_Long live the Evenstar! Long live the Evenstar! Long live the Evenstar!_

Catelyn remained frozen to the spot on the bed. Each and every person was now not looking at her as if she were Lady Catelyn - the little girl who had grown tall and lost a hand amongst them - but as if she were opportunity itself. In the way they gazed at her, Catelyn could see their every hope and dream for the future of the island; that the weather would be kind, that the harvest would be good, that their new leader would not spend her people's wealth on baubles and trinkets for undeserving favourites.

They stared at her with such hope it was almost blinding.

Yet Catelyn could not look back at them - her people, her _subjects_ \- because she did not want to think about that; not ruling her island, nor ambition, nor the future, nor all the possibilities that lay before her. In that moment, all she wanted to think about her mother and the only person who seemed to agree was Jaime Lannister. While everyone else was gazing into the light of the new dawn, the Kingslayer remained half perched on the bed, shirtless, cradling Brienne of Tarth in his arms. It was like a scene in a story, where he was the valiant knight weeping for his lost lady. Yet this was real; painfully real. In her final fragility and icy death, Catelyn's mother almost looked delicate as his tears fell onto her pallid cheeks, she thought someone should write a sad ballad that went straight to the heart.

"Wench," he sobbed, his voice a croak. "Don't go. Stay with me. Please stay."

It was a futile request. In her short seventeen years, Catelyn had never seen anyone die before, so she was not prepared for the way it appeared a kind of strange sleep. Peaceful, almost. Jaime Lannister had seen death, of course - thousands of soldiers, knights, and squires dead in battle, a slaughtered king, a poisoned son and daughter, a bloody bed - yet perhaps their ends had not been so easy as the Evenstar's. For him, her going silently mid-song was unexpected. Ser Jaime anticipated the deaths of those he cared for would be bloody. Visceral. Perhaps by the Strangler, or flying from a window, or the Red Keep falling on and crushing a golden crown. Not this; dying surrounded by the people who loved you most.

Yet in spite of Ser Jaime's obvious baffled distress, no one moved to help him. No one went to gently persuade him to completely release his grip on the Evenstar's body, nor to wipe his tears from his cheeks. For some of the people in the room - the servants who had just discovered who he truly was - the Kingslayer was a living monster, in the process of shedding his skin like a snake to reveal the real, bleeding, hurting human being underneath. While the servants could remained skittish and terrified in the face of such a conundrum, Catelyn could not stand to watch him go so ignored for one moment longer.

Lifting herself up from her spot on the bed she had occupied during her mother's passing, Catelyn walked towards him, ignoring their cries for the new Evenstar. Instead, she kept her eyes on Ser Jaime until she reached him, her mother's lifeless body still in his arms. Scared touch would be too much, even though it was all she had to offer him, Catelyn reached out and brushed the fingers of her remaining hand on his shoulder. She hoped he would understand.

Ser Jaime snapped his head around, staring like a wounded animal, all shining knighthood and civility gone. In the space between heartbeats, he was the feral animal everyone feared he was. Yet Catelyn tried to see beyond.

"Father," she whispered, barely able to push her words past the sadness pressing on her chest. "Father. Father. Father..."

She had meant to be reassuring, but instead Catelyn was overwhelmed by tears at the magnitude of what she had just lost, and what now faced her.

"Father."

It was that last cracked evocation of him - the god, the Kingslayer, the concept, or the man sitting in front of her, Catelyn did not know - that at last compelled Ser Jaime to act. Moving as carefully as if he were holding a priceless Valyrian sword, he laid Brienne of Tarth's body back on her bed, brushing the hair out of her face to make it look as if she were sleeping. Then he got to his feet and looked into his daughter's eyes.

Green met green.

"Cat," he rasped, the tone of his voice matching hers. "I'm so sorry."

And then he was up on his feet and opening his arms, and Catelyn could do nothing but throw herself against him and let him pull her into an hug. Mere days ago she would have marvelled at that she had been waiting to have some affection from her father for years and years, but now all she could do was let herself be carried away in a flood of his tears and hers, to let her grief and his blend, both mourning the one they loved the most...

As Jenny, finally, danced with her ghosts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. As ever, I would love to hear what you think of this chapter in the form of comments and kudos, but I have been worrying about this one in particular, so my normal sentiment applies times a thousand :)


	19. Uneasy Lies the Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the death of her mother, Catelyn must adjust to her new responsibilities...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thanks for coming back to this penultimate chapter. Yes, that is right... penultimate, I added another one. But don't worry; I finished what I intended to be one chapter and then split it in two because it was monstrously long, so the final part should be with you tomorrow. I hope you enjoy!

After her mother's death, Catelyn felt shell-shocked, not quite able to believe what had just happened.

Her mother, Brienne of Tarth, was gone.

Maester Yreme had arranged for the Evenstar's body to be taken from her chamber, and then... for Catelyn, everything passed in a blur. The next time she resurfaced, her mother was being laid out in the Great Hall for her people to see her, the ancient crown of the Petty Kings of Tarth upon her head. Set with river pearls and cut diamonds, it made her shimmering and beautiful, a star shining on the distant horizon. It matched the silken shirt and breeches in Tarth colours she was wearing, and, in death, she was every inch the Evenstar that she had been in life.

As was expected, the smallfolk of Tarth were allowed to process past, leaving flowers, weeping, and remembering. To make sure her mother remained undisturbed, Catelyn's first muddled order as the new Evenstar was to make sure there was a guard around her every hour of the day and night to protect her until her funeral seven days later. Podrick volunteered. So did Ser Jaime. They stood, silently watching over her, as the smallfolk processed by - doffing their caps and whispering prayers - their faces solemn and unsmiling. Podrick made sure there was a rota to ensure that he could go and attend to his other duties as castellan, and that other members of the household guard could have their turn to guard their beloved Evenstar. On the other hand, Ser Jaime did quite the opposite. He stood by Brienne of Tarth day and night, like a statue at a shrine, as if guarding her was a sacred duty the Seven themselves had bestowed upon him. It made the servants gossip.

"Ser Lefford seems quite devoted."

"That's because he's not Ser Lefford, but Ser _Lannister."_

"Gertie saw it confirmed on the Evenstar's death bed. He's the Kingslayer alright; he's even missing a hand."

"The Seven save us."

Yet Ser Jaime did not seem to hear their disbelieving, disdainful words (or, if he did, he chose to ignore them). Nothing would sway him from his duty, not even hunger or tiredness. Therefore he stayed at his post - silent and devoted - as the Evenstar 's protector, illuminated by the flickering candles that surrounded her. In this light, Catelyn could almost see the boy he had once been, knighted aged fifteen by Ser Arthur Dayne for crossing blades with the Smiling Knight. As she was tremendously busy herself, Catelyn was glad he was there, because she felt as if her mother was protected, even if he never seemed to take a moment for himself. In fact, he never moved an inch, but just stayed at the Evenstar's side, even as day dropped into night and he could barely keep standing.

"Ser Jaime," Catelyn said softly when she approached him on the second night, sensing this was too much for him. "You should really think about going to bed."

His face remained impassive, as if he would rather die than be accused of dereliction of his duty. "I have thought about it... and I do not want to. It is my duty to stay here."

In spite of how unamused he looked, Catelyn could not help but smile at her father. He really could be a real green boy sometimes. "Ser Jaime, I thought you were a knight of the Seven Kingdoms, not a squire of twelve."

Shocked, he turned to face her, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, knights need sleep. And my mother taught me that the duties of a good knight included making sure he was well-fed and rested so he could be of better service to those around him."

That was not _entirely_ true, but Catelyn thought it served her point.

Ser Jaime evidently disagreed, however.

"I can't leave her," he said tightly, pulling the hilt of his sword closer to his chest. "She wanted me to stay, so I am _going_ to stay."

"You can stay in the Master at Arms room, where your physical distance from her could not be mistaken for leaving her under any circumstance. You will just be sleeping and taking care of yourself, _like she would have wanted."_

Ser Jaime looked down at the floor, his face clouded with guilt. "I cannot get penance..."

"On a feather bed, I know," said Catelyn, finishing his sentence. "But you don't need penance, and even if you did, she can't give it to you now. What you _do_ need, however, is sleep."

When Catelyn continued to gaze at him, firmly and forcefully, the corners of Ser Jaime's mouth turned up in an echo of a smile. "You know it is I who am your parent, not the other way around."

"Yes," Catelyn smiled, glad her was acknowledging his status as her father, "but that should not stop me telling you when you should go to bed. I am my mother's daughter, you know."

At the mention of the Evenstar, Ser Jaime's eyes dropped to her pale, unmoving face. "You want me to eat my fucking bread, don't you?"

Catelyn did not immediately understand what he was saying, but then she remembered how Jaime had reminded Brienne of Tarth that she had once told him to eat his fucking bread and live while she was on her deathbed. Consequently, Catelyn found herself nodding her head, wanting to take on her mother's mantle. "Yes. You can come and stand guard over her tomorrow. I am sure she will not blame you for sleeping."

"I don't know about that," he sighed, looking wistfully down at the former Evenstar, "but I will do what you say, Cat. I might fall asleep on my feet otherwise."

Cat smiled, warmth blooming within her that he had responded to her worry for him. "Goodnight, father."

She liked that word, how it tasted on her tongue.

He looked up; his green eyes shrouded in shadow. Catelyn hoped it was the flickering candlelight.

"Goodnight, Cat."

* * *

Brienne of Tarth was to lay in state for seven days before her funeral, to give time for her people to process past and for the Seven themselves to look down on her with kindness. Catelyn had paid for the best embalmers, so it just appeared as if she were sleeping, her blonde-grey hair a halo on the pillow beneath her. In truth, her mother looked more peaceful that she had in years.

The opposite was true for Catelyn herself, however. At her sudden ascent to the position of Evenstar, her life had changed at a breath-taking speed. Suddenly, she found herself at the centre of a vortex of swirling people; petitioners, hangers-on, servants and stewards, all desperate for her opinion and her say so.

After her mother's death, Catelyn had been hoping for the space to retire to her chamber and think on the past, maybe to weep and pray. However, there was no such chance. She was no longer Lady Catelyn anymore, but the Evenstar. It even meant she had little time to see Ty. Most of her days were now filled with Podrick and Maester Yreme going through all of the tasks her mother had been partway through undertaking when she died, that Catelyn had had no idea about in the innocent days only a week earlier.

"Cat," said Podrick when he next had her imprisoned in her mother's solar (which, she now supposed was hers). "We need to make a decision on the grain tariffs from Essos. The harvest has been particularly poor this year, so the returns on your rents have also been equally disappointing. We could circumvent this by increasing import tariffs with the Free Cities, but they then may retaliate by putting tariffs on Tarth marble. As they are our biggest market, we have to think carefully how we are going to proceed on this issue."

Maester Yreme then came and started hassling her about his supplies diminishing and the need to send out and trading expedition to Essosi. "We can do a tour of the Free Cities, and maybe go as far as Volantis, because my stocks are getting very low. Alternatively, we could arrange an expedition to Oldtown, but you know how tense things have been with the Ironborn for the past few months, so that may not be wise."

It felt as if Catelyn had fallen asleep on a beach only to be overcome by a huge tsunami while she rested, which drowned her completely and entirely. Choking on her grief and the weight of responsibility, Catelyn found it difficult to even breathe, especially when Maester Yreme came to her four days after her mother had died while she sat at her desk in the solar with three ravens offering proposals of marriage.

"Lord Buckler presents his second son Alesander, who is two-and-twenty. Reports say he is a handsome lad with a good sword hand, a lusty disposition, but not much between the ears. Alternatively, Ser Jon Wylde has just lost his wife the Lady Elyana, and is looking for a new one. On the plus side, he already has a son and heir so any children you bear could take on the Tarth name. On the minus, he is pushing sixty. House Penrose have a cousin..."

Catelyn held up her hand to silence him. "I am sorry, Maester Yreme. Would you leave me with these letters so I can peruse them? Such a decision will take a long time and... I am very tired."

The man gave her an understanding nod. "Of course, my lady. I shall be in the Great Hall if you need me."

Once he was gone, Catelyn looked down at the letters. She had not imagined that the second her mother died she would be inundated with missives petitioning her for her hand, all from mainlanders wanting to get their grubby hands on her island. Laying the letters out in front of her, Catelyn sighed. How could she think about taking a husband right now? It was bad enough that her mother was dead, but to also have to think of some unknown man kissing her and holding her...

Unbidden, her thoughts went to Meg. She was now married to a stable hand at Storm's End. Catelyn wondered whether she could call her back home; perhaps an offer of a grand house down in the town would be enough, or even a proper position at the castle. It would be good to have her old friend back, and surely she could help Catelyn make her mind up about her suitors. Putting the letters from her potential suitors in the desk drawer, Catelyn went to find a quill in order to write a letter to her. She was just beginning a search for a new pot of ink when Ser Jaime knocked on the door and entered the room, a cloud over his head.

"Lady Catelyn," he said seriously, as if he was a servant.

Cat could not help but smile at him warmly. "It is Cat to you."

"Cat," he corrected himself, his whole body relaxing at the acknowledgement. "May I speak to you for a moment? It is about the Island Guard." Perhaps it was the expression on her face, but Ser Jaime evidently spotted now was not the time. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Catelyn replied, trying to sound breezy. "It is just I have had no less than _three_ marriage proposals since mother has died. You would think they would have the decency to at least let me grieve before placing their snot nosed sons - or, in Ser Jon's case, _himself_ \- into my bed." She expected Ser Jaime to laugh, but instead he looked quite serious. Walking forward so he was level with her, he put his hand on her shoulder, a gesture which Catelyn found instantly comforting.

"You don't have to marry any of them, you know?" he said gently. "You are in an enviable position for a woman. No father to tell you what to do, no husband, no brothers. You do not have to marry any of those shits who sent you letters. If you want, you can be Lady Catelyn of Tarth forever, adopt Ty and make him your heir. You have no one who will oblige you to do anything, and you should hold onto that for as long as you can. My page has been written in the White Book; yours is barely started. Your life can be whatever you want it to be."

Surprised that such a statement had come from Jaime Lannister, who must have been raised on his own father's dreams of a thousand year legacy, Catelyn was more taken aback by the fact he was not begging her to give him grandchildren. She was his only living child, after all. "But surely you must think it is proper for a young lady like me to marry some bore and give him babies, for the sake of Tarth?"

Ser Jaime almost laughed, the cloud dispersing at once. "No. You forget who I am. I watched my sister marry a man who was terrible for her, and he just made her even more vindictive and cruel than she already was. And your mother," his voice turned wistful, "she never married even if... even if once... she might have wanted to. Yet she was never lesser, never let other people tell he what she should be. I admired her for that most of all, I think. I always let other people tell me what I was."

Catelyn could not help but smile. "She was always like that. Independently minded."

"She was," replied Ser Jaime softly. "Always unafraid."

A silence overcame them that was almost warm and comforting, as it felt as if Brienne of Tarth was with them for a brief moment. However, such fantasies could not last forever, so Catelyn eventually broke it with a question. "So, you think I should turn my suitors down?"

"Do whatever you feel is best," he said, taking a step closer. "You are the Evenstar now. This island is your universe."

In spite of knowing that was true, Catelyn was suddenly seized by fear. Her mother had always seemed so strong and solid in every decision she had ever made. How could Catelyn - naive, green, and inexperienced as she was - ever hope to compare?

She drew her mouth into a tight line. "I don't know what is best... I feel as if I should take advice."

"Then _take_ advice," Ser Jaime suggested. "Maybe call together a small council of your most loyal servants and let them guide you. But remember, you have all the time in the world. You are only a maid of seventeen."

Touched by his commitment to offering her careful guidance, Catelyn held her arms open for a hug. For a horrible moment, she thought he would reject her but then, to her immense relief, he did not flinch away.

Instead, Ser Jaime wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

* * *

The council called to decide what to do on the question of the young Evenstar's marriage was held on the final day of Brienne of Tarth's lying in state. Consequently, the castle was so full of smallfolk, that Catelyn and her advisors had to retreat up to one of the smaller rooms upstairs. It had taken a lot to persuade Ser Jaime to leave his vigil at Brienne of Tarth's side, but Catelyn had eventually done it, mainly by fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"But _Father,"_ she had pouted, emphasising his new title. "I need an ally."

He briefly cast a look down at the sleeping Brienne of Tarth, as if for guidance, before nodding in agreement. "Of course, Cat. Of course."

Ser Jaime was not the only one invited to the meeting. Podrick, in his role as Castellan and closest friend, came and sat at the table opposite Ser Jaime, cracking his knuckles loudly. Also in attendance was Maester Yreme, with his reams of parchment in order to take copious notes. Apart from Catelyn herself, the last two members of the group were Harwin Fell, Master of the Horse, who, as a Stormlander, had a good knowledge of all the local families, and Gertie the cook. She was mainly there because Catelyn had known her since she was a child, and she desperately felt as if she needed a female influence on proceedings. While Maester Yreme took the chair immediately opposite Catelyn, Harwin and Gertie flanked Podrick, meaning it appeared as if Ser Jaime were being questioned about something tremendously serious that Catelyn was not quite privy to by the people facing him.

"Right," she said, trying to make her voice firm and authoritative as her mother's would have been. "I have called you all here today because, since my mother's death, I have received no less than _nine_ marriage proposals from Stormlander lords, and I wanted to seek the advice of my friends in reaching my decision on what is best to do."

As if to set the tone, Ser Jaime spoke first. "I think it is important to emphasise that this is not about making sudden decisions but weighing up the options you have in front of you, Cat."

To Catelyn's surprise, Podrick let out a little laugh at Ser Jaime's measured comment. "Is that what you did, Ser Jaime, in relation to your own love life? Weighed up the options?"

Ser Jaime almost flinched. Clearly, he was supremely uncomfortable with the thought that Podrick believed he had weighed the Evenstar against his sister and found her lacking.

"This is not about my love life, Pod," said Ser Jaime, his smile fading.

Podrick shook his head derisively. "And my name is not _Pod._ I am not a squire anymore!"

"I didn't mean any insult..."

"Gentlemen," said Catelyn, holding up her hand to silence them. "There is no need for arguments. We are here to discuss my marital prospects, not rip one another's heads off."

Harwin cleared his throat, cutting across Ser Jaime and Podrick's battle. "Actually, my lady, there is something else that Gertie and I would like to raise at this meeting too."

Catelyn raised her eyebrow in surprise. "Oh? What is that?"

The Master of the Horse's expression suddenly grew sharp as he stared across the table at Ser Jaime. "Gertie tells me that our Master at Arms has been hiding his true identity from us all. Apparently, he behaved quite improperly at the Evenstar's deathbed, and the servants now have reason to believe that Ser Jaime... is _not_ who he says he is."

"Indeed, m'lady," piped up Gertie, the two of them clearly having prepared their joint assault before the meeting. "I served your mother loyally for many years, but it was built on the basis of the trust and respect she held me and everyone else who works here in. If Ser Lefford is not who he says he is, it is a betrayal of our rights to honesty and transparency from our employer. There is a grumbling from the servants; they will not stand for it!"

Both Gertie and Harwin turned to Catelyn at once, and she could tell from their expressions that they were in no mood to be trifled with. As Catelyn scrabbled around for the words, Maester Yreme interrupted, using his ancient authority to try and smooth the situation over. "My dearest Gertie, we are here to talk about the Evenstar's marriage..."

"With all due respect, Yreme," said the cook firmly, "we will all support m'lady in whatever she wishes to do. She is still young; she can keep all these bloody fortune chasers and old perverts dangling on a string for as long as she wants for all we care, but Ser Lefford is different. We must know who we work for; this is not like before the Long Night when we smallfolk could be treated like chattel. We demand to be respected."

Given the animosity that had been brewing between Podrick and Ser Jaime, Catelyn almost anticipated the former to blurt the truth out. Instead, he just gazed at the latter expectantly. Perhaps he would not go so far to be the one who wielded the blade.

"Gertie," interjected Catelyn, before Podrick, Ser Jaime, or anyone else could get a word in edgeways. "I assure you that I value every single servant who works at Evenfall Hall, but that does not give you the right to root around in Ser Jaime's life as if he is some sort of criminal. I..."

"It is alright, Catelyn," interrupted Ser Jaime, his eyes locked on the three people who opposed him on the other side of the table. "Harwin, Gertie... what do you want to know?"

The Master of the Horse answered at once. "Who are you? Because the maids are whispering you are the Kingslayer. Have you been lying to us, or are you really Ser Lefford?"

For a fleeting moment, the heavy guilt that often seemed to cloud Ser Jaime danced in his eyes, but then he took a deep breath and tried to answer them. "Alright," he said thickly, looking from Harwin, to Gertie, to Podrick, and back again. "I have not been completely truthful about who I am, but from the moment I arrived on this island, Lady Brienne _and_ Ser Podrick were fully aware of my true identity."

Harwin shot a quick look at Podrick, whose face remained impassive. "That is all very well, Ser, but if we are to work beside one another _we_ must know who you are. We are a community here on Tarth, so no man can hide his true face from us."

On the edge of her seat at this rapidly heightening tension, Catelyn did not know what to say to make it better; she was too green, too inexperienced. Ser Jaime did, however. It was simply the truth.

"No, I am not Ser Lefford," he admitted, looking immensely tired. "That was a name I adopted only recently. My real name is Ser Jaime Lannister, who some people once called Kingslayer." Harwin sucked in a shocked breath, but Gertie just looked smugly satisfied, as if she knew all along. Not letting their contempt stop him, Ser Jaime continued speaking. "My father was Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Warden of the West, and the Head of House Lannister. I am brother to Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, and to Queen Cersei, First of her name."

At the mention of the Bad Queen, Gertie went a little pale. "My cousin Arden died when King's Landing burned..."

He did not let her finish but tried to offer her an alternate perspective on who he was. "I am father to King Joffrey Baratheon, Princess Myrcella Baratheon, King Tommen Baratheon, Joanna of Pentos, and... Lady Catelyn of Tarth."

While the other occupants of the room were all aware of Catelyn's parentage, Harwin found the news particularly shocking. "You and... Lady Brienne?"

"Me and Lady Brienne," said Ser Jaime, almost proudly. "For a whole month."

While Gertie and Harwin gaped at each other, Podrick's expression turned furious at the mention of those long ago days in Winterfell. "Why do you have to be so crude about her?" he growled, his voice low. "She loved you seventeen long years, she died, and now you are _still here_ while the rest of us are grieving."

"Believe it or not, Pod, I am grieving too," replied Ser Jaime, quick as a whip. "The Kingslayer does have a heart."

"If you _had_ a heart you would make this easier for everyone," declared Podrick, slamming a fist down on the table. "The servants are already muttering about curses, ghosts, and wildfire, and how your presence on this island does not bode well for Cat; that it is a bad omen. I would never ask her to send you away, because I know what you mean to her, but surely you see how your presence here is just making things difficult for her! Besides the issues with the servants, you being here will start rumours, and rumours will beget questions that need answers. And if it is discovered that Lady Catelyn has been harbouring the Kingslayer, we might have a riot on our hands!"

"I do not want to hurt Cat," replied Ser Jaime, his voice already a little softer than when he had arrogantly announced he had spent a month in Lady Brienne's bed.

Podrick let out an irritated huff. "I _know_ you don't, but you don't have to intend to hurt Catelyn to actually do it, just as you probably did not _intend_ to stab Brienne through the heart all those years ago."

"Podrick!" cried Catelyn, horrified when she saw how rapidly her father's face was falling.

Yet Podrick was in no mood for sweet words.

"No, Cat. I must say my peace. You wanted my advice on the proposals you have received - I think you should bide your time and play suitors off against one another - but that is not the issue you should be most concerned about. It is entirely your decision whether the Kingslayer stays on your island or not, but I cannot keep you blind to the problems it will cause you. Now the servants know who he really is, it will not be long before everyone knows - from Storm's End to the Wall - and I cannot fully anticipate how the public will react to the knowledge you are harbouring him. Tyrion knows he lives, but what about King Bran? The Lords Paramount? Everyone who lost friends and family because of his follies. It could cost you marriage prospects, and trade deals..."

"But maybe I don't care about all that," said Catelyn, trying not to cry. "Maybe I just want my father..."

Podrick looked exasperatedly at her, but she could tell it was an emotion born of concern rather than genuine concern. "You are the Evenstar now, Cat. You have a duty to your people. It is not so simple anymore."

 _Not so simple,_ she mused, as she looked at each of the people sitting at the table before her. _Now that mother is gone..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! As always, I would love to hear what you think in a comment or kudos. Every one brightens my day!


	20. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter... or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks SO much for coming back to read this. Before I say my thank yous, I just want to mention that I am a little behind on answering comments, but I will get there! I have had so much fun writing this story (even if it has been quite emotional), so I am so proud of myself that I have finished. Thank you to every single person who got this far, and I hope you enjoy.

From the moment the meeting finished, a twinge of fear began to knot in Catelyn's stomach. It had settled there after she had seen the way her father's face had fallen at Gertie and Harwin's words. She had spotted the way every cruel accusation had hurt him - even though it did not show in his expression or in his genuinely arrogant demeanour - and how he had tried to hide his reaction. Consequently, Catelyn had not been able to stop him fighting back against what hurt him with snipes, because she knew that she suffered insults herself the same way; as a joke, when in fact they cut her deep.

It had therefore been quite obvious what Ser Jaime would do next. Throughout dinner he had sat at the end of the high table quietly eating his food, barely conversing with anyone. As Catelyn watched him, it slowly dawned on her that he was no longer in Evenfall Hall; he was elsewhere, in the past. Lost inside.

Once he had finished eating, Ser Jaime did not immediately leave the Great Hall, however, but walked up to Catelyn, who was sitting in the Evenstar's ancient chair, her kingdom before her. He looked a little sad, so she smiled at him in an effort to brighten his spirits.

"Father," she said, trying to remind him of his place in her life. "Are you quite well?"

He sighed, soul-deep. "I am... just tired. I think I am going to retire for the night."

"Are you sure you don't want any more to eat? Drink?"

"No," he said softly. "I am quite fine. It's just... I would... I would like to say goodnight to you. Properly."

There was something hidden behind that request, Catelyn knew, but she pretended not to see it. Instead, she just got to her feet and grasped his wrist. "Come with me."

Moving out of the line of sight of her people in the Great Hall, Catelyn directed her father to a hidden corridor behind a door at the end of the High Table. Once there, she gazed at him expectantly. "Goodnight, Father."

"Goodnight Cat."

And then no more words were needed, as he pulled her into a hug, resting his stunted arm on her back, his chin on her shoulder, and his good hand on the back of her head. Catelyn gripped hold of him tightly in response, as if to keep him in place, because she could tell by the tension in his body and the sadness in his eyes what he was intending to do.

When Catelyn pulled away from him, she smiled at him. "I will see you tomorrow... for the funeral."

"The funeral," he muttered, a great weight suddenly landing on his shoulders. "Of course..."

Catelyn could do nothing else but pull him into another hug, hoping that she could tell him in gesture what she could not with her words. "Sweet dreams, Ser Jaime," she mumbled into his shoulder.

"Sweet dreams."

It took all Catelyn's resolve to leave her father, let him retire to his room, and then return to the Great Hall herself. When she took her seat in the Evenstar's Chair once more, Podrick came and sat beside her, a slightly pained look on his face.

"Ser Jaime has gone to bed then, has he?"

"Yes," nodded Cat. "I think he's tired. Mourning is taking a lot out of him."

Podrick sat up a little stiffly at that comment. "We are _all_ mourning, Cat, you most of all."

Catelyn knew Podrick was speaking the truth, but she wondered whether his analysis was a little simplistic. "But he loved my mother romantically... surely that is a different type of grief?" In truth, Cat did not really know. She had never been in love herself.

Clearly not agreeing, Podrick shrugged dismissively at her question. "Maybe, but you know what I think of him and his claims about loving your mother."

"Yes I do," replied Catelyn tightly, pouring herself a cup of wine. "You made yourself _very_ clear about what you thought of him in the Council Meeting."

Perhaps it was the tone of her voice, or even the irritated look she was giving him, but Podrick let out a resigned sigh. "I cannot help it, Cat. You don't know what it was like in the days after he left her at Winterfell. Your mother was a mess... and there was only me, her squire, to help her pick up the pieces."

"I know, but that is all in the past..."

"Yes, it was, but the past was the present once," replied Podrick quickly, unclenching and then clenching his fist. "Brienne... was like a mother to me. When I had nowhere to go, no hope of a future, she kept me fed, trained me, and gifted me with a purpose in life; to be a knight. And then we fought death together and she kept me alive. She was a _hero_. And then he left and she just... crumbled. And after he had hurt her beyond what she could bear, I could only watch. Helpless."

As Podrick spoke, Catelyn watched how years of guilt twisted across his face. She wanted to help him, so she reached out and took his hand. "I am sure my mother never held that against you..."

"But _I_ held it against me," said Podrick bitterly, not able to meet Catelyn's eye. "I was her squire. I was meant to look after her! And I could do nothing to help her; not in seventeen years when she buried that pain deep and pretended it didn't exist. I feel _guilty_ for that Cat, and it is my duty as your castellan but as your friend to tell you that the servants are not happy with Ser Jaime's presence on the island and..."

Catelyn smiled at him sadly, running her thumb across his knuckles. "I can persuade the servants, and so can Ser Jaime when they see he is not so bad. When they know _him_ and not the legend, they will change their minds. What I am worried about though, is _you,_ Podrick, because I want my father to stay at Evenfall and... I don't want to choose between you."

"I don't want you to choose between us," said Podrick sadly, his voice almost breaking. "I am trying to forgive him Cat, for your sake... I really am. It is just... I was never as good as your mother, and he hurt her so badly..."

"Which he deeply, deeply regrets. You can see it when you look in his eyes."

Podrick could not dispute that point, so when he lifted his head, he just nodded. "I know... but you cannot expect me to forgive him all at once. It will take me time."

"Have all the time you want," declared Catelyn, squeezing his fingers. "All the time, because now we have it in abundance."

For the first time that evening, Podrick smiled.

* * *

Although Catelyn felt like she had won a small battle with Podrick, the knot in her stomach still did not leave her, even when she retired to her chamber later that night. When saying goodnight to him, Ser Jaime had seemed as if he was mentally wandering away from Evenfall, beyond where she could reach. Yet Catelyn was determined to stop him. It therefore dawned on her rather quickly what she must do. Without waiting a moment, Catelyn called in her maid, who was just doing the last bit of tidying before going to bed herself.

"Tansy, can you please do something for me?"

The maid nodded. "Of course, my lady. What do you need?"

"Could you please go down to the gatekeeper and inform him that _no one_ is allowed to leave the castle until dawn? He should make sure all the gates and doors are barred and bolted until the sun rises. Do you understand me?"

Although the girl was evidently confused about the need for such measures, she curtseyed and left. Once she was alone, Catelyn crossed to the window in the Evenstar's chambers that did not overlook the herb garden, but the central courtyard that lay beside Evenfall Hall's front gate. Pulling a chair over so she could sit down, Catelyn rested her elbows on the window ledge and gazed out across the darkening castle. Within a few minutes, she saw her maid hurry through the space to reach the gatekeeper's house. After knocking on his front door a few times, he answered, and Catelyn's orders were evidently relayed. Tansy then turned on her heel and returned to the castle, while the gatekeeper came out and did one last round to check everything was shut tight before returning to bed himself.

It was then a waiting game.

Half an hour later, he finally appeared. Ser Jaime was wearing the Pentoshi merchant's garb he arrived in, carrying only a small bag and a sword. Catelyn nearly rolled her eyes at how predictable he was, even though it stung. After the Council Meeting - where he had been battered with his own inadequacy - Ser Jaime had evidently come to the conclusion that his presence on Tarth would make his daughter's first few months as Evenstar harder than they needed to be, so had chosen the safe old option of retreating from all that was bright.

_Why can he not see that I will protect him, just as my mother would have done at Winterfell?_

Not moving from her spot by the window, Catelyn watched as her father walked to the great gates. Spotting they were shut with no one in sight, he then tried to knock on the gatekeeper's door. A few moments later, the gatekeeper arrived, all grumbles and curses, and told Ser Jaime the Evenstar's orders loud enough so even Catelyn could hear it.

"I am sorry, Ser, but there will be no leaving the castle until morning. Goodnight!"

Once the gatekeeper closed the door in Ser Jaime's face, Catelyn watched as his shoulders slumped in disappointment. While this almost felt a victory, Catelyn knew she still had to fight the rest of the war. She _would_ persuade her father to stay; not because she needed him, but because she wanted him to be by her side. This was a golden opportunity that she would not waste.

Turning away from the window, Catelyn blew out her candle before retreating to bed.

* * *

The whole castle rose early on the day of Brienne of Tarth's funeral.

As was Tarth tradition, the deceased Evenstar would be placed in a boat filled with flowers and sent out to sea, where she could take her place in the cosmos of the eastern sky. Preparations had been made on the beach by the servants already, so all Catelyn had to do was dress in her gown of Tarth colours - pink and blue - and place the ancient crown of the Petty Kings of Tarth on her head. It hurt her neck to hold it up, but she knew she must not complain, given that it had so recently been taken from her mother's head.

Once she was prepared, Catelyn went down to the courtyard where the household was making preparations for the journey down to the beach. Horses had been readied, meaning it was likely everyone was to reach the shore a little before dawn. Although she rode beside Ty, who always found it supremely challenging to keep quiet, Catelyn managed to succeed in remaining silent, uncrying. In order to do that, she kept her eyes fixed on the backs of Podrick and Ser Jaime, who rode at the head of the procession. Like Catelyn and Ty, they too did not talk to each other, but Cat thought it was easier for them that way.

Smoothing out their issues entirely would have to be left for another day.

By the time the party arrived at the beach, the sky was slowly starting to turn from inky black to blue and the stars seemed less bright. The beach was already lined with smallfolk, ready to say goodbye to the Evenstar. Catelyn found herself strangely touched by their presence.

"Where shall we put the horses?" asked Ty, gazing up at her for instruction.

"The servants will take them," replied Catelyn, gesturing towards Harwin, who came to help her dismount from her own ride. "I will go and stand on that platform; it will give me a good view of proceedings. You should go and help your father. He will be in need of you." Armed with his duty, Ty gave Cat a firm nod and went off in search of his father, who was now standing just by the edge of the waves with the bowmen, giving them instructions. Once he was firmly distracted watching the archers practicing their shots, Catelyn did what she had told him she would do and go and stand on the rock for a better view.

The Narrow Sea truly was beautiful. Blue and sparkling in the dim morning light, it was truly the most stunning colour in the world, and Catelyn could not help but stare. She knew the Free Cities were on the other side of this stretch of water - Myr, Tyrosh, or Pentos - but in Catelyn's mind it was a never-ending world sea, silently waiting to welcome her mother home.

"Lady Catelyn," came a voice, disrupting her from her reverie.

Turning around, she noticed Ser Jaime, who came to stand next to her on the rock. He gave her a small smile. Catelyn could not help but think how much better he looked now he was well rested and wearing Tarth armour.

"Good morning father," she replied, matching him smile for smile before facing the sea once more, letting the salt air blow in her face. "It is a beautiful dawn, don't you think?"

He nodded; his eyes strangely misty. "Yes. I think Brienne would have liked it."

"Indeed," Catelyn agreed, thinking the colour-streaked sky was what her mother loved most about Tarth. This early, at the hour where day kissed night, the island possessed an exquisite beauty that could never be replicated elsewhere, not even for all the gold under Casterly Rock.

_A little like my mother,_ she thought.

At that moment, Tarth's septon began to speak. He was standing on a small jetty that lead out into the sea, the boat containing Brienne of Tarth's body rocking in the swells beside him. Catelyn had made sure her mother's funerary monument was beautiful; she had bedecked it with flowers, had her mother dressed in an expensive blue silk shirt and breeches, and made sure the best artists painted the stones that were placed over her eyes. Nothing could replicate that particular azure, but Catelyn was determined to try.

Leaning close to her, Ser Jaime whispered in Catelyn's ear. "What is the Septon saying?"

"The last rites," replied Catelyn with great difficulty, as a lump rose in her throat. "Soon, he will release the boat out to sea."

With nothing to do but listen, Catelyn and Ser Jaime both kept their ears pricked up in order to hear the odd word of what he was saying. Unfortunately, it was not so much, as they were too far back and the wind was fairly strong. What they could not miss, however, was the song that was sung when the septon reached the end of his soliloquy. It was an ancient song in a language half remembered, but it was written on the people of Tarth's bones, so Catelyn could not help but join in - as naturally as breathing - while Ser Jaime watched her. The light of dawn illuminated his eyes; for a moment, bathed in the morning, he looked like a pilgrim who had travelled a very, very long way.

"This is not the end, it is the beginning,

You cannot falter now.

If you trust nothing else,

Trust this. Trust love.

Trust this. Trust love."

As the words lifted up from the beach and into the heavens, Catelyn could not help but remember the gods; Father, Mother, Maiden, Warrior, Smith, Crone, and Stranger. She hoped they would take her mother's hand, where Catelyn herself could not. With prayers embedded into the song, the Evenstar's boat was pushed out to sea, the only sound the gentle parting of the waves. The currents around Tarth were strong. It would not be too long before she was far out to sea. Indeed, by the time the song came to an end, Brienne of Tarth was many leagues along her journey; from land to sea, darkness to light, sound to silence, life to death.

Moving beyond.

When silence overcame those gathered to watch her, Ser Jaime could not resist breaking the quiet.

"I never believed. I never..."

Podrick gave the signal and the archers raised their bows, the tips of their arrows alight with flames. Accompanied by the sound of swooping, parted air, the arrows went flying into the sky. Almost as one they landed in Brienne of Tarth's boat, and her funerary monument caught alight instantly. Ser Jaime sucked in a horrified gasp.

"It is Tarth tradition," said Catelyn gently, almost wanting to reach out and take his hand. "Our ancestors, the Petty Kings of Tarth, were Andals who came from across the Narrow Sea. She is just going to join them. As it should be."

_As it should be,_ mused Catelyn.

Although she said those words to her father to comfort him, things had not really ever been as they should be. Ser Jaime should never have returned to his sister, forsaking Brienne of Tarth. Joanna should never have died in poverty and penury. The Evenstar should not have lived seventeen years with a hole where her heart had once been. Catelyn herself should never have lost her hand, nor spent a lifetime wondering about her father. Everything had been out of place. Yet, now, if the gods looked down upon them all, huddled together on the beach, it would seem like everything was as it should be. The Evenstar was going to her rest as the heroine she was, surrounded by her people. Her daughter was here. Her squire was here. The great love of her life was here.

_Our stars,_ thought Catelyn, _are finally aligned._

The pair of them watched in silence as the boat, now burning brightly, floated out towards the horizon to join the other stars just blinking out as dawn began to encroach on the sky.

"You locked the gates last night," he said suddenly, pulling her away from her thoughts. "Why?"

Catelyn could do nothing but tell him the truth. "I was afraid you would leave."

He sighed, as if a weight were on his shoulders that was pushing the breath out of his body. "Harwin and the others made their feelings about me clear at the Council meeting and I..."

Catelyn refused to let him finish his sentence. _She_ was the Evenstar; her Council had sworn to obey, not to fight her express wishes. Consequently, Catelyn felt no fear in saying what she needed to say.

"I do not care what they think. Stay with me," she said, partly a demand made in pique, a lady's order, and a begging request. "Please stay."

Far away and a long time ago, the cold snow blew.

It was a heavy entreaty, one that made her chest hurt. Ser Jaime seemed to agree. Turning to look at her, his eyes betraying how haunted he was; by the Evenstar, his sister, by a long-lost daughter missing across the Narrow Sea. Cat did not care. This moment was perhaps the last chance she would ever have to get through to him, and if she did not take this shot, she would regret it forever.

"I do not care what you have done in the past. I do not care if Podrick and Harwin and Gertie or whoever else do not want you here. _I_ am the Evenstar and it is my choice."

Overcome by her offer, Jaime smiled at Cat sadly. "If I go, things will be easier for you. Things will..."

"Be _harder_ for me," insisted Catelyn firmly, stepping closer to him. "My whole life I have wondered about you, wondered who you are, and now I have the chance to know. My mother loved you... she saw the good in you... and I trust her judgement, so that is enough for me to believe it too." She took a deep breath. "I want to know you; do you want to know me?"

He answered in a heartbeat. "Of course I do."

"Then this is your chance. _Know me_ ," she offered, looking into his familiar green eyes. She could see his guilt, but also his newly discovered hope. "I am not Joanna. I am not my mother, so there is no need for you to feel guilty about a past you cannot change anymore. I am just Cat, who offers you a future instead of always looking to your regrets. You said that your page in the White Book was complete, but that is not true; there is always room for more, you just have to be prepared to write it. I want a _chance_ to be your daughter and for you to be my father. Is that too much to ask?"

Her father smiled at her sadly. "It has been seventeen years..."

"None of that matters now. All that matters is that you and me are on this island, together, with a golden chance that you never had with your other children, or with my mother, or even Cersei."

Ser Jaime flinched at the mention of his sister's name, then looked at his only surviving daughter, his brow furrowed as he considered her. Cat wondered if, with her blonde hair and green eyes, she reminded him of his sister, his poison, and if that was why he pulled away. "And what is that chance, Cat? What does that mean?"

"I do not know, because I cannot see the future. I do not know if I will be struck down by a summer sickness tomorrow, or if the Ironborn will raid our shores, or if I will live for another twenty years and give you as many grandchildren. All I can say for certain is I _can_ offer you a future; a future far away from King's Landing and the glamour of the Jade Sea, but a future, nonetheless. The only question is if you want it... with me, your daughter."

In spite of the fact Catelyn thought she had been quite poetic with her offer, Ser Jaime did not answer her at once. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the sea to watch Brienne, now a shining light in the distance. Lifting his remaining hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to his fingers then blew it out to sea in the direction of the newest star launching into the sky. When he turned back to Cat, there were tears in his eyes.

"I am not the easiest man to know."

"And I am not the easiest woman to know," Catelyn countered, "but we should try, as my mother believed in us both. We can make something good; I know we can because we have both been so lost... so please, stay with me, and let’s try to start again."

There were crinkles in the corners of Ser Jaime's eyes when he smiled at her. In something that might have been affirmation, he reached out to his only remaining child, taking her sole hand in his own. His touch was gentle. Gaging Catelyn's reaction, when she did not flinch away, he nodded at her, and she could not help but mirror the gesture. They were father and daughter, and recognising the similarities is their reflections was only natural.

Not sure whether that was an agreement or refusal, Catelyn nevertheless joined her father in turning back to look at the sea, now glass like in its stillness. Her hand in his, the two of them silently watched the cosmos shift, as the Evenstar disappeared over the horizon, burning bright one last time.

Once she was gone, a new dawn rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAHHHHH thanks so much for reading. I wanted the ending to be hopeful, so I would be really grateful if you could let me know in a lovely comment whether I achieved that.
> 
> The song sung at Brienne's funeral in this chapter is "Evenstar" from the Two Towers. I am convinced that GRRM drew a lot of inspiration for Brienne from Arwen so the song (and its subject matter) seemed appropriate here. I listened to it as I wrote this chapter, so if you want to hear the atmosphere at the beach, the link is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgVM6HFFj28).
> 
> Thanks once again for reading!


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